After You're Gone
by Colby'sGirl19
Summary: 'After You're Gone' follows Don two years after his latest family bereavement. Unable to cope Don plummets into depression, using Alcohol as a crutch. Can Don pull himself together before it's too late? Set 18 years after the TV show.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

After the death of his brother and sister-in-law some ten years earlier, Special Agent Don Eppes had thought he could never feel such overwhelming pain again. He was _deadly _wrong…

Sitting now with his father's cold lifeless hand in his warm one, Don knew what it meant to truly be alone. Tears speckled his cheeks as his throat closed tight around his strangled sobs. Desperately he gulped for air that would not come and shook violently as he slowly rocked back and forth, back and forth…openly weeping for the loss of his father.

Hours passed or perhaps a mere few minutes, Don couldn't tell…time was irrelevant to him now, as he sat frozen, the tips of his father's icy fingers pressed tightly against his lips. The room was eerily silent as the sun's first ray's tickled Don's skin, and bathed the room in amber light. For sound, like his many other senses, were numb to him right now, as he sat and remembered the dead.

"Don," Robin whispered softly as she squeezed her husband's rigid shoulder, "honey…Rabbi Berkhoff's ready to start the cleansing…when you're ready, of course." She told him doubtfully as she took in the motionless remains of her father-in-law. "If you need more time…" she wavered uncertainly as she took in her husband's frozen profile and blank stare, uncertain of what to say next and unsure if Don had even heard her.

More time passed as the silence grew around them. Together, hand in hand, husband and wife considered the prospects of their future together. Both knew, although never spoke of it, that everything had changed. The damage that Alan's death would inflict upon their lives would be irreparable, but only time could tell by how much.

"Don…" Robin whispered again, breaking the silence in an attempt to alleviate some of the tension in the room. As she leant into her husband's firm embrace and rubbed his hand for warmth she said, "Dylan asked if he could pay his respects before the cleansing…I didn't know how to tell him no…"

At the mention of his nephew's name, Don's whole body contorted with pain, for it was Dylan that was to throw their lives into total chaos. After Charlie and Amita had died when Dylan was only five years old, his care had fallen to Don and Robin, neither of whom had felt prepared nor wanted the task of raising a young child.

It had been Alan who had eventually stepped in and relieved his grieving son of the burden. However, with the death of his own father, Dylan's grandfather, once more the burden of Dylan's care rested upon his uncle's unprepared shoulders…a responsibility that Don still didn't want. He wasn't ready to become a surrogate father, especially to an unreceptive grieving fifteen year old boy.

"Is he outside?" Don croaked his voice hoarse from lack of use.

"Yes," Robin mumbled, folding her hands into her lap, unable to hold Don's impassioned gaze. "He's waiting with Rabbi Berkhoff…" she trailed off, not wanting to rush him.

"Then perhaps it's time…" Don replied, biting his lip uncertainly. He had sat with his father all night and would have sat there longer, refusing to accept his father's death, had he not been bound by ritual. Standing up abruptly, Don drifted over to the window and looked out upon the frenzy of headstones that silhouetted against the sunrise. "He wouldn't want this…" Don spoke roughly, as he forced the words past the lump in his throat.

"Pardon?" Robin asked cautiously, at the waves of raw emotion that were fighting their way across her husband's defeated features.

"After Charlie passed...he renounced what little faith he'd retained after my mother's death," Don tried to explain, "…my father…he was never really a religious man…he only came to the synagogue because mom made him," Don said with the ghost of a smile on his frozen lips. "He was that guy you'd notice with the headphones listening to the game," Don laughed stiltedly, as heavy tears dropped down his long nose and fell upon his rumpled shirt. "I'm sorry," Don laughed harder as he took in Robin's horrified expression and brushed furiously at his cheeks in an attempt to dry his face.

Don hated to appear weak before his wife but he seemed to have lost all control of his body ever since his father first grabbed his chest and collapsed in the middle of his office. _Dad…_Don cried internally, if only he hadn't yelled at his frail father…_then perhaps he wouldn't have had a heart attack_, was all Don could think about.

"Don!" Robin cried passionately as her husband began to shiver uncontrollably. "Honey!" She cried again, this time breaking into his troubled thoughts as she got up in an attempt to be closer to him. She hesitated, however, when he threw up an arm to ward her off but decided to ignore him anyway. "Darling, _please…_" she insisted as she laid a hand upon his brittle shoulder.

"He wouldn't want this…any of it…" Don cursed angrily as he crossed his arms, shrugging her hand off his shoulder defiantly, as his eyes strayed back to the white sheet that was covering his father's naked body. Don glanced away, disgusted with himself for his cowardice.

The only part of Alan on show was his face and the hand that Don had been holding earlier. Don had pulled the sheet back from his father's face when he'd first entered the room the evening before. It had felt wrong somehow to sit with his father smothered beneath the white material whilst he sat there. In the long hours of the night, Don could almost pretend that Alan was merely sleeping in this nightmarish room, had it not been for the familiar blue tinge of death that Don had seen at many crime scenes over the years, now colouring Alan's lips and pale skin.

"Funerals aren't for the dead Don, they're for the living," Robin replied sagely breaking into Don's scattered thoughts once more, her eyes also wandering to her late father-in-law. Picking up his abandoned hand Robin gave it a quick squeeze before meeting her husband's detached stare. "Besides," Robin continued as she rested Alan's hand over his body and kissed his cold forehead, "Alan would have wanted to be buried with Charlie and Amita and the only way was to bury him here at the synagogue, which requires the appropriate ceremony..." Holding out her hand, Robin waited for Don to take it.

"You're right," Don surrendered, ignoring her hand, "It's all my fault," Don told her angrily as he moved to the end of his father's bed. "The only reason Charlie and Amita were even buried here was because of me…and my ridiculous notions of finding faith after the Crystal Hoyle and Buck Winters fiasco…"

"Your father gave you that funeral to help you with your grief…and I think I knew him well enough by now to say that he would gladly give his own funeral to you if it would help you to move on," Robin stated bluntly as she pulled Don back to her and embraced him tightly.

"You're right, except I don't see how it could. They're all dead Robin…my whole family…gone…" Don whispered sadly into her soft brown hair.

"Not everyone," She whispered back as she stepped away and looked into her husband's tortured eyes, "you still have _me_…and Dylan."

"Yes…Dylan," Don looked away ashamed. The truth was Don didn't really know his nephew very well. When Charlie had been alive, Don had been the cool uncle to him and had often been a frequent guest at his and his brother's old family home. However, after the…incident…and as Dylan got older, Don found it increasingly harder to be around his nephew because the older Dylan got, the more of Charlie Don saw in him.

Call it cowardice, Alan had last night in Don's office, but Don just couldn't be around Dylan. It was too painful. As a result Don had avoided his old family home like the plague and had hardly spoken more than two words to his estranged nephew over the past ten years. He felt guilty as hell for it too, however, despite the guilt he felt, Don couldn't help also feeling relieved when Alan eventually took pity upon his grieving Son and released Don and Robin of their new parenting responsibilities. Free of distractions, Don had devoted every spare minute over the last ten years to his career, not that it had gotten him very far.

Don was the Special Agent in Charge of his division at the FBI and whilst he liked his job because it gave him the perfect excuse for not visiting his nephew, Don couldn't help but smart over his being passed over for promotion when the AD had retired.

Nevertheless, Don soon learnt that the only drawback to cutting Dylan out as much as possible was cutting out his father too. Most of the time Alan had to come to the office to see Don and if he knew the real reason for Don's absence, he'd never let on before, until last night that is…

Don's latest guilt trip was soon cut short, however, by the sudden knocking at the door. Sitting back against the window pane, Don let Robin answer the door for him, resisting the urge to tell who ever it was to go away. Deciding not to be a child about it, Don waited as Robin held the door open for the Rabbi and silently sighed with relief that he hadn't made a scene. Rabbi Berkhoff was ancient and had been Don's Rabbi for as long as Don could remember. "Don," The old man stretched his hands out in welcome and Don raced to embrace his old mentor and confidant.

"Rabbi, is it really time?" Don asked, reluctant to bury his father.

"I'm afraid so my child," Berkhoff answered solemnly as he left Don's embrace to stand beside his diseased friend. "Dylan's in the hall, he wants to say his goodbyes before we start," Berkhoff told Don quietly as he squeezed Alan's stiff shoulder, his eyes glistening with sadness. "He was always such a character, your father…I'd liked to believe that I have been of some comfort to him over the years," Berkhoff sighed compassionately at Don.

"I'll go get Dylan," Don replied uneasily at the Rabbi's mournful gaze and made a b-line for the door.

"_Don_…he's too young," Robin stated disbelievingly, stopping him in his hasty retreat.

"He's _fifteen_," Don shrugged indifferently in the doorway. "I was about his age when I said goodbye to my grandfather."

"He's not as prepared for this as we are," She stated lamely.

"When it's someone you love you can never be prepared," Don said as he tried to hold the tears back. How he still had any left was beyond him.

"I know," Robin whispered as she moved to Don's side and turned her back on the bemused Rabbi. "But he's never seen a corpse before. It's going to be a shock for him…"

"People have open caskets all the time," Don tried to reason with her, "besides…I've been with dad all night…."

"That's different, you're the…'_shomer_'… you wouldn't be here if it hadn't been your duty as a family member to sit all night with the body," Robin retorted harshly.

"I'd have been here anyway!" Don snapped as he shrugged her warm hand off his shoulder, "I wouldn't have left him alone, and if it wasn't my _"duty" _to go bury my _father_ in a moment then I'd still be here, sitting with him. Besides I don't want Dylan to resent me for not giving him a _minute_ to say _goodbye_. I haven't given him much over the years…but I'm giving him this," Don opened the door and looked expectantly at his wife, waiting for her to leave first.

Robin stalked out into the hallway and waited for Don to join her before turning her scathing district attorney gaze upon him one last time, "so to ease your own guilt you're going to allow this?" She said gesturing to the gangly teen slouched on a bench down the hall.

"Yes," Don's eyes flashed defiantly causing Robin to shake with repressed anger. "Dylan," Don called out to his nephew before gesturing to the room, "You have a minute whilst I go get the others to start the cleansing." Don informed Dylan, who nodded once before bobbing under the arm Don had leaning on the doorframe and closed the door behind him. "Let's get the others," Don told Robin, abandoning the fight. He felt like he'd had the wind knocked out of him at the misery in his nephew's eyes and wanted to put as much distance between them as possible, for he had seen a similar pain once before in Charlie's eyes when they'd found out that their mother was dying of cancer.

It was just before Charlie had locked himself in the garage and refused to leave until he'd finished an unsolvable mathematical equation. Fortunately, as far as Don knew, the mathematical side of Charlie's genius hadn't fallen to his son, so Don was confident that he needn't worry that Dylan would do the same with Alan's body and the Rabbi.

"I'm sorry Don," Robin sighed regretfully. She hated it when Don ruffled her feathers and got her angry. As the district attorney she'd built a reputation for being unflappable. Some called her composure being an "ice bitch", Robin, however, called it winning. Nevertheless, Don knew exactly how to draw her into an argument of which neither would be willing to loose. Accepting defeat this one time, as it was her father-in-law's funeral, Robin took Don's hand in hers and entwined their fingers. "Let's go get the others," She smiled what she hoped was a comforting, let bygones be bygones, smile before leading him down the hall to the waiting room.

*(break)*

Not long after the '_Tahara_' ritual of washing the diseased to purify the body, Don found himself watching closely as the other funeral service members wrapped Alan in the '_Tachrichim_' burial garments used by Jewish people for over two thousand years. The simple white shroud was supposed to symbolise the equality of man, from the richest to the poorest, with all appearing equal before the eternal. Whilst they did this, Rabbi Berkhoff recited the '_Kaddish_' prayer in praise of the eternal. It was now that mourners of the diseased were supposed to render a garment to symbolise the tear in a part of their souls.

It had been a long ten years since Don had last adorned his black suit and tie and wished so badly that it could have been longer. Nevertheless, having worn it to Charlie and Amita's joint funeral, Don found no need to render his jacket as it was already torn around the collar. Instead, Don chose to make the tear bigger to symbolise the gaping hole he had inside himself, empty of everything but guilt and remorse.

In his new suit and tie, Dylan looked as uncomfortable as Don and for the first time Don took pity upon his young nephew and went to him. "You need help?" Don asked referring to the crumpled jacked in Dylan's white knuckled grasp.

"Thanks," Dylan mumbled reluctantly as he surrendered the jacket.

"S'ok," Don replied as he took two fistfuls of the jacket and ripped along the collar. Meanwhile Dylan stuffed his hands in his pockets and scuffed his shoes as he shifted uncomfortably on the spot. Up close Dylan looked so much like Charlie and Amita that Don had to catch his breath for a moment before finishing with the jacket and handing it back.

Although Dylan did mostly resemble Amita with her olive skin and almond shaped eyes, Dylan did have his father's black uncombable curly hair, long nose, strong jaw and full lips. He mostly resembled Charlie, however, in his deep soulful dark brown eyes, the kind of eyes that had seen too much and screamed of a childhood cut short.

Shaking his head, Don tried to put Charlie and Amita out of his mind as he concentrated on the service men attending to his father. When they eventually stepped away from Alan's body Don went to him and grasped his hand so tight that it turned white.

"I love you _so_ much …" Don whispered softly as he leaned down to his father's ear, "…I only wish I'd spent more time telling you that over these past ten years… I'm just so sorry for cutting you out." Gently Don kissed his father's hand as a single tear slowly made its way down the creases in his weathered cheek.

"Don, it's time to close the casket for the funeral service," Rabbi Berkhoff told Don kindly as he stepped up behind him and rested his wrinkled hand upon Don and Alan's entwined fingers. When Don ignored the Rabbi, Berkhoff took it upon himself to separate father and son's hands and pulled the lid over the casket. "We should get the others," Berkhoff said as he reached up and brushed the trickles of tears from Don's rosy cheeks, "It's finally time my child."

"Yes…" Don acknowledged the Rabbi regretfully. "I'd like to start the ceremony personally by saying a few words," Don told the Rabbi without taking his eyes off the closed casket.

"Are you sure?" The Rabbi asked Don concernedly.

"Yes," Don stood up a little straighter as he laid his hand upon the carved wooden lid that separated his father's lifeless body from his own. "Yes I'm sure," He repeated, his voice like steel. It was just hard for Don to absorb that he would never see his father in the flesh again. As if sensing Don's need for space, Rabbi Berkhoff backed off to gather the last of the guests before the ceremony began.

*(break)*

"Hi," Don nervously addressed the restless crowd, "Of those of you here that know me, know that I am not a wordsmith. The only time I ever came close to eloquence in a speech was on my wedding day when my beautiful wife asked if we could write our own vows. They were my own words, however, they were cleverly rephrased to sound fancy by Charlie, my brother and Alan's other son, who also tragically died too young. If he was here with us today I'm sure he would have known the perfect thing to say to sum up our father's life…"

Don rubbed his sweaty palms on his pants before reaching inside his jacket and pulling out a small slip of paper. "I thought long and hard all night about what I would say and well…this was all that I could come up with," Don raised the paper in the air for emphasis before resting it back on the small lectern. "They aren't actually my own words…mine were too lame…they are in fact the words of a very good friend of Alan and Charlie's… and of mine too. They are the words of Dr Larry Fleinhardt who after me will read for you," Don said as he gathered all his strength not to break down. "Larry is a professor of physics and half the time I haven't the foggiest what he's saying, however, one day he said something to me which I found quite profound at the time and well it's kind of stuck with me. He was using the universe as a metaphor for death, and it went a little bit like this: 'it leads me back to those stars, when one dies and disappears; the whole cluster feels the loss'."

Turning his back on the modest sized crowd, Don placed his hand upon the carved lid of the coffin. "Dad, as we all cluster here today let it be known that we all feel the loss. There is now a hole in our constellation…and we here…we here… we are all proud to have known you," Don stood still there for some time, the crowd now forgotten as his shoulders began to shake and the tears began to fall once more. Don was a veteran of funerals by now, but even he couldn't believe that he had anymore tears to shed.

"Thank you Don," Rabbi Berkhoff said coming up behind Don before laying a comforting hand on the small of his back. "As you said, Dr Larry Fleinhardt will now read psalm twenty three."

Getting up Larry went to Don and squeezed his shoulder before going to the lectern. For a moment Larry stood frozen to the spot. He had taught in front of many students before and bored most of them to distraction with his philosophy on physics and the universe. Yet here today, Larry found himself rooted to the spot unable to speak. Coughing to clear his throat, Larry scratched at the stubble at his jaw before taking out his passage and placing it on the small podium. "This is a reading that was very important to Alan, he read it at his son's funeral and I shall now read it for you. It's Psalm twenty three," he told the crowd as the Rabbi spoke softly to the openly weeping Don.

"The lord is my shepherd," Larry began, blocking out the Rabbi's hushed words as he tried to address each audience member with his own. "I lack nothing," He continued, "He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, he refreshes my soul. He guides me along the right paths for his name's sake. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Surely your goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the lord forever."

Finishing Larry looked out over the crowd. There wasn't a dry eye in the room. Nodding more to himself, than to anyone else, Larry walked over and stood beside Don. Once there, Larry took a sharp intake of breath as he too placed his hand upon the carved lid of the coffin. "You were always the rational one," Larry told Alan's coffin, "as the last member of our think tank I now find myself thoughtless in the presence of your casket and of your grieving family. I find myself humbled by the love these people have for you and your kin, and in the presence of my own grief I can't think of a single witty or clever thing to say. I will, however, say the only thing I think you would have wanted to hear from me any way. 'I promise to watch over your son _and_ grandson as if they were my own and will try to guide them as you yourself have guided them over the years. Know dear friend, that you will never be forgotten. I love you as if you were my own brother…please rest peacefully now."

"Thank you Larry;" Don told him gratefully, "You were like a brother to him too."

"Does anyone else wish to speak?" The Rabbi asked the forgotten audience. When no one raised their hand he continued, "We shall now move on to Alan's final resting place. Will the pallbearers please come forward to carry the casket and can everyone else please make a procession behind us."

Holding his father's heavy wooden casket upon his shoulder Don, Colby, David and Larry began the short walk from the synagogue to the burial site, stopping the customary seven times as the ceremony dictated.

*(break)*

"I shall now recite the '_Kaddish_' prayer in praise of the eternal once more. Those who know it are welcome to join me in the reading of the prayer," The rabbi addressed the crowd around Alan's grave. Once he had everyone's attention the Rabbi began, "God, filled with mercy…"

"Dwelling in the heavens' heights, bring proper rest beneath the wings of your _'Shechinah'_," Don and Larry joined in, knowing the words from Charlie and Amita's funeral. The only one who didn't join in was Dylan, who instead seemed more interested in the two strong looking men that had joined the funeral procession, two shovels resting upon their large shoulders.

"Amid the ranks of the holy and the pure," The Rabbi continued, ignoring the two men who were doing a horrible job of blending in until the time came to fill the grave. "Illuminating like the brilliance of the skies the souls of our beloved and our blameless who went to their eternal place of rest. May you who are the source of mercy shelter them beneath your wings eternally, and bind their souls among the living, that they may rest in peace. And let us say: Amen."

"Amen," The crowd repeated solemnly.

"And now," The Rabbi held out his arms as if to hug the crowd, "If you could please form two rows, the family will pass between you all. Giving each of you time to express your own condolences before the wake, which Don informs me is being held at his house. I have the address here for those who need it. God bless you all."

As the crowd slowly shuffled to form two rows, each mourner retrieved a small pebble from the basket that the Rabbi held out for them, and placed it in a bowl in front of Alan's headstone to mark their visit and to show their respect for the dead.

It was only after Don and Robin had heard every condolence and as the crowd began to disperse that Don realised that Dylan had not been with them. Signalling to Robin to go onto the wake without him, Don went in search of his missing nephew, whom he found minutes later by Alan's graveside. The two grave diggers were missing, their shovels abandoned by the open grave that Dylan was now attempting to fill.

He noticed that the grave was half full by now, as Dylan kept up his steady rhythm of scoop and swing, scoop and swing. "Why?" Was all that Don said when Dylan eventually raised his head in acknowledgement of Don's presence.

Instead of answering Dylan continued to fill the grave under the weary gaze of his uncle. Don noticed that the rebellious teens hands were bleeding from the rough handle of the shovel, not that it was slowing his progress any. "Why?" Don repeated louder and more forcefully as he picked up the other shovel and leaned against it.

"Because…" Dylan shrugged stubbornly, nevertheless, when Don crossed his arms, refusing to take _'because'_ as an answer, Dylan cursed angrily and thrust the heavy shovel forcefully into the dwindling mound of earth, scooping up more dirt than the small shovel could handle. Don noticed that Dylan's suit was stained with blood and sweat from his efforts, his tie abandoned on the ground and his rumpled shirt torn in several places. He looked pathetic and defeated and Don felt a strong tremble of guilt in his gut. At no point that day had Don taken the time to comfort his poor nephew. Even now as he searched for the right thing to say, he felt more lost for words than he had ever felt in his life. He wanted to make it right for his nephew but didn't know how and judging from the resentment in Dylan's eyes he had fallen short once more in the boy's expectations.

"Dylan-"

"-BECAUSE OK!" Dylan shouted angrily, cutting Don off, "…because it's what you did for dad," he eventually spat out, fighting hard to stay in control and failing miserably as his nose began to run and the tears began to fall.

"Who told you that?" Don asked calmly.

"Does it matter?" Dylan replied stubbornly, his voice wavering through the tears.

"No, I suppose it doesn't," Don sighed before taking his jacket off and joining Dylan with the spare shovel. "Move over," was all he said as he too took a large scoop of dirt and began to fling it into his father's grave. Dylan hesitated for a moment before giving Don some room and resuming his work.

It was only when they had finished that Don threw down the shovel, his own suit ruined from the effort-not that Don cared. Copying Don, Dylan threw down his own shovel and followed Don to a small cherry tree nearby. Sitting down, Don took out a small flask that he'd hidden inside his jacket pocket during the service and took a long swig before offering it to his underage nephew. All he said was "Don't tell your aunt," and handed it over.

Dylan took a swig but quickly spat it out as he choked from the scotches strength. "Jesus!" He spluttered and handed the flask back, eyeing his uncle wearily as Don took another big swig, practically draining the flask in one go. "How can you drink that?" Dylan asked naively.

"Trust me, you get used to it," Don rasped as he felt the scotches familiar warmth drowning out the guilt.

After some time, Dylan turned his gaze once more upon his dishevelled uncle. Don's hair was longer than he liked, however, who had time to cut their hair when they spent every possible hour working and every waking moment in denial. Other than the hair and the dark shadow colouring Don's jaw, Dylan realised he didn't really know the man beside him. "What's going to happen to me?" Dylan asked suddenly, before he even realised he'd even been thinking it.

Unsure how to answer, Don played for time by finishing the flask, "Your aunt and I have been talking and we thought it might be best if we moved into the old craftsman home with you. We want to disrupt your life as little as possible," Don replied eventually.

"NO!" Dylan shouted unhappily and turned his head away from his uncle's enquiring gaze, "I…I don't want to go back there."

Don reached out and turned his nephew's head back to face him, it was covered in dirt, sweat, and blood but the defiant glint in his eyes shone through it all. "Ok," Don nodded selfishly, "Don't worry you don't have to go back there, you can come stay with me and Robin."

The relief that passed over Dylan's face mirrored that of his uncle's and was so heart wrenching that Don realised for the first time how frightened his nephew must have been. At the same time Dylan's body sagged with tiredness and for the first time in ten years Don reached out and pulled his nephew into a tight embrace.

Together the two sat in companionable silence for hours as the wind picked up and slowly rustled the branches of the tree above them, sending down a cascade of blossoms, neither one making it to the wake.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

*2 Years Later*

Don looked across the large stacks of paper spread across his office floor at the woman sat opposite from him and wondered when he'd stopped loving her. If the amount of hours spent at the office was any indication, then he'd stopped loving her for quite some time now.

After his father passed away some two years earlier, Don had started going into the office earlier and leaving later. It was only mid-day and Don could already think of a hundred things he needed to do before he could leave that night. Robin, his wife, was only here helping him now because she had some fancy client dinner she needed him to attend tonight and he'd promised to go. He'd broken a lot of promises over the years, but he really felt bad about this one.

Her presence in his office was more distracting than it was helpful, however, because right now he was supposed to be updating and organising old case files, instead he found himself day dreaming, rolling every possible reaction that his news could bring over and over in his mind. After all, once it was said, he could never take it back.

Don looked down at the file he'd been holding for a while now and realised that he couldn't tell you what was in it, let alone what name was printed on the front. Not that Robin had noticed, she was too busy efficiently organising her half of the files into tidy little stacks. Everything Robin did was efficient and organised; he'd never known her to be anything but poised and ready for action. Most attorneys found that intimidating but Don knew the right thing to say or the right button to press to melt the façade. For that was what her whole district Attorney persona was anyway, a façade. She had once told him that she had created the 'Ice Bitch' nickname herself just to intimidate the other attorneys, after all being a woman in a male dominated profession wasn't easy.

Instead of reading the file, as he should have been, Don found himself watching her as she played with her long brown hair, twirling it round her fingers as she chewed her bottom lip, as he'd known she would be. They were all mannerisms that at one stage or another in their long marriage Don had once found endearing. Now, however, the constant fidgeting was driving Don to distraction. _Tell her,_ his conscience nagged at him;_go on…tell her now._

Don felt the familiar twist of guilt in his stomach as she licked her perfectly manicured finger and turned a page in her file-he hated that. She did look happier than she had been for a long time though. _She should be,_ his conscience nagged at him once more. _After all she doesn't know…_he thought internally. She was happy for now, blissfully ignorant of the fact that Don was about to rock her world and probably destroy any hope she had of ever becoming a judge one day.

Provided he could get up the confidence to just say it that is. _It's not like she doesn't deserve it, _Don thought irritably, even though he knew that his absenteeism was probably a driving force behind her betrayal. _So what! _He argued with himself as he leant back against his desk and stretched his legs out, _you may not have been the model husband but you were always there… _His courage deserted him; however, as Robin looked up from the file she was reading and smiled that sweet smile that had drawn him to her in the first place.

When Don didn't reciprocate the smile, however, he watched her own begin to falter. On paper she looked and acted like the perfect wife. Don knew better. Putting the file down in the relevant stack, Robin turned to him and looked him straight in the eye, "You ok?" She asked, the concern evident on her face, twisting the knife of guilt a little deeper. _It's now or never,_ his conscience reasoned, _all or nothing…do or die._

"I…" Unsure how to go on, Don dipped his gaze away from her beautiful face to the wall sized window that looked out upon downtown LA. Together they sat in silence, neither one brave enough to speak their mind.

"Don?" She asked again, she had always hated his silences and consequently was usually the first to break them. Taking his rough hand in her small delicate one, Robin watched him study her in the tall window's reflection. She had a black figure-hugging dress on and a white suit jacket with black velvet cuffs over the top. Her legs were long and folded underneath her, with her black velvet pumps neatly placed to one side. _Everything about Robin is neatly placed_, he thought angrily. For once he just wanted to mess her up a bit, to drag her down to his level. To make her feel the turmoil inside of him and not let her dismiss it this time.

After another long silence, Robin finally grew impatient, "What's the _matter_ honey?" She asked again.

"Nothing," Don stated bluntly, dropping her hand like a stone to pick up the next file.

"It's not _"nothing"_," She needled at him, knowing him too well, and too curious by this point to drop it.

"Ok it's not _"nothing"_,"Don muttered as he threw the file back on its pile and crossed his arms in irritation. He didn't want to do this now, not like this.

"Well," She smiled encouragingly, showing her pristine white teeth, "Spit it out then."

Raking his large hands through his messy black hair, Don rocked back on his hills and tried to think of a nice way to get out of saying it. Nevertheless, just as he was about to fob her off with some excuse for his strange silence, something snapped inside of him and the courage that had deserted him previously came back to him in spades. In the end with no easy way of putting it, Don went for the direct approach. "I want a divorce," He told her bluntly causing her teasing smile to freeze in place. _Ha, _his conscience sniggered childishly.

"I'm sorry?" She stammered, unsure if she'd heard right.

"I-want-a-_divorce_," Don told her again, annunciating each word clearly for her, this time with an edge of steel to his voice.

"But…why?" Was all she could think to say in reply to the hostility igniting in her husband's usually soft brown eyes.

"Because you slept with one of my best friends," Don stood up and moved towards his desk, the guilt he'd felt earlier turning to liquid fire inside of him, fuelling his anger.

"No I didn't-" She supplied lamely as her neck grew flushed and her usual composure shattered.

"-Don't fuck with me Robin!" Don cut in, ready for her denial and disappointed that she couldn't at least own her mistakes. Robin visually flinched in reply. "I have proof!" Don shouted as he picked up a manila envelope from his sturdy work desk and tossed it at his bewildered wife. As the envelope flew through the air, A5 sized photos slipped out the end in a flurry, leaving a multi-coloured web of lies and deceit wherever they fell.

Picking up some of the photos closest to her, Robin recognised herself and Harvey, another lawyer and longstanding friend of Don's, in a motel room in various states of undress and ecstasy. "I have to say," Don told Robin scathingly, "I honestly didn't think you'd be so cheap as to settle for a seedy motel room. Couldn't Harvey spring for a hotel suit?"

"Don…I…we…he meant nothing to me!" She parroted every cheating spouse in the country. "_Don! Please!_"

"No, save it. I'm done Robin. _We're done!"_ He told her without remorse as the first tears began to fall and her lip began to tremble. "I hope he was worth it," Don turned his back dismissing her, however, she didn't take the hint.

"_Oh please_!" She spat venomously, "You've been searching for an out for two years now. You just never had the balls to tell me that you didn't love me anymore!"

"You're right!" Don shouted as he looked at her now furious reflection in the window. "I don't love you anymore, congratulations! But know that it's because of what's in those photos," Don lied to her. In truth he really had been searching for an out, he just didn't realise that she'd known it as well. Ignoring the niggling sense of remorse he felt, Don let the anger fuel him as she knelt there shaking in the centre of his office amid a sea of paperwork.

Her lip trembled as her eyes flittered for a life line. Something, anything to take back the last few years. The truth was, ever since Charlie and Amita's funerals, Robin had known her marriage was hanging on by a thread. So she did everything in her power to be there for her husband, she never left his side and made sure that every day _he knew_ that he was not alone.

Nevertheless, when Don started working strange hours and made up excuses to avoid her, Robin knew that she had been wrong. Her husband wanted and needed space, from her and Dylan. So she did what she could to make sure Don didn't have to worry about his home life anymore and went to her father-in-law and begged him to take in Dylan, the source of her husband's guilt and drinking. When Alan had agreed and the arrangements had been made, Robin watched her husband from afar searching for any sign of change. She just hoped that Don knew that she loved him. All she wanted was for the man she married to come back to her.

Nevertheless, after a couple years of Robin going to bed crying, because her husband was still out there in some bar or other, Robin decided she'd had enough. She packed her bag with every intention of leaving and just as she'd been about to walk out of the door forever, Robin found Harvey on her doorstep dressed in a thousand dollar suit, that was drenched through because he'd forgotten his umbrella and it was pouring it down with rain outside. He had smiled that infamous lady killer smile of his and she'd been hooked. Harvey was showing her more attention than Don had for years, and for once she had caved to the attentions of another man. Besides, no one had been home and Robin had desperately needed to talk to someone, anyone and Harvey was just…there.

They'd started as friends, lunch here and there, the odd dinner, but there was no denying the obvious attraction that the pair had felt for one another. Robin had even started secretly fantasizing about Harvey coming to her office and playing a little game of "attorney client privilege". It was right around the time that Don had been passed over for promotion to AD, in light of which he vowed to stop drinking and got himself to AA.

The change in Don was miraculous and just as she was contemplating leaving Don for Harvey, whom had recently pledged his love for her and asked her to run away with him, the man she married came home early and whisked her upstairs for a weekend of nonstop sex. She felt guilty for Harvey, but she really did love her husband.

That was of course, until Alan had died a couple of years ago and her husband never made it to the wake. It was like daja vu all over again, except this time it was worse. Harvey, whom had recently moved back after leaving a few years ago to teach at Oxford University, had asked to take Robin to dinner, platonically of course.

Once there, amidst the richest and fanciest patrons of LA, Robin had felt all her feelings for Harvey rush back in seconds and this time, Robin didn't have the will power to say no. So she had let him whisk her upstairs to his hotel suite and slept with him, and slept with him, until both were spent from their love making.

However, unable to leave Don, for she still did love him, she had agreed to keep seeing Harvey on the sly. He wasn't happy with the arrangement of course but whilst she liked Harvey for his good looks, great sex and easy conversation, she _loved _Don and she just couldn't leave him. Especially now that she suspected that he'd fallen off the wagon again. Perhaps the tiniest part of her thought she could fix him this time…

When she realised that Don was still watching her, hatred in his usually kind brown eyes, Robin lowered her head in shame. She didn't know how to find the words to explain the photographs, let alone to get Don to reconcile with her. Any poise she usually had was deserting her. So with a rough voice, from choking back tears, Robin looked her husband square in the eyes and let him know why she caved to Harvey in the first place, besides his obvious charm and charisma that is.

"It's been a long time since we've been…_intimate_..." Robin supplied by way of explanation. "Harvey, he filled the void of an absentee husband…_that's all_. Was it stupid? Maybe…but when was the last time you really looked at me like a woman?" She asked in a hushed in an ashamed tone.

"So instead of talking to me about it you sleep with my friend? I'm sorry but that's just bullshit and you know it," Don sighed, as he turned around and leaned his back against the cold glass.

"He was just there one day-"

"-Pathetic!" Don overrode her. "I'm sorry, but there is no _excuse_ that I'm willing to accept. You've been screwing a good friend…what I thought was a good friend for nearly two years now! I want a divorce and you can't change my mind." When she held a hand to her mouth to stifle a sob, Don softened considerably…after all he did feel guilty about not being the husband she deserved. "I'm sorry Robin…that I was anything less than you needed me to be…I could forgive anything, _anything_ but this. It's over, and I hope you and Harvey can move on and be happy together, because you deserve it Rob…you really do."

"I don't want him!" She screamed sharply, "I want my husband! _I love you_!"

Bowing his head, Don tried not to cave. He had loved her once, he was sure of it, but whether that loved died after Charlie and Amita's funerals or when his father died right where Robin knelt now…Don couldn't say, and it wasn't fair to Robin to pretend otherwise. "It's just not enough anymore. I'm Sorry Rob, I really am but Dylan and I _will_ be moving out tonight, as soon as my shift's over."

"Where will you go?" She sniffed, her head bowed in defeat.

Don stayed silent for a long time, tossing up how much to tell her. He had secretly met with a landlord a couple of days ago and arranged the whole thing. He knew that he wouldn't want to stay in the condo after telling her he wanted a divorce, it sent mixed signals and there was no way he was going to put his best friend Colby and his wife Liz out. They had only recently had their second child Brandon and the late nights were getting to Colby, besides they didn't need to worry about Don and Dylan at a time like this and Larry had moved back to the monastery after Alan's funeral. They didn't really have many options so Don really hoped that the apartment didn't fall through.

Standing up straight, Don rubbed the back of his neck as he moved over to his desk and sat down. Sighing reluctantly, he looked at his crying wife. Even in tears she was one of the most beautiful women he knew. "There's an apartment nearby, hopefully there," He told her dispassionately and when she looked up, mouth open ready to argue he added cruelly, "If not there then we'll just have to spend a couple nights in a motel. Got any recommendations?" As if sensing the finality of Don's tone and posture, Robin stood up, smoothed out her dress and left the room, her whole body shaking with anger and remorse.

As soon as the door slammed shut behind her, Don visibly sagged with grief or perhaps relief. After seventeen years with Robin, it was hard to accept that he had just ended it. Looking now at his wedding ring, which had recently felt more like a prison sentence, Don watched as the small gold band winked at him from the bright light of his desk lamp, _It is certainly one thing to be relieved about_, he supposed as he pulled the ring off and set it down beside the fountain pen Robin had bought him for his birthday last year.

When all was said and done, however, Don couldn't believe that the woman he had pledged forever to all those years ago had broken her vow to him. How did he feel about it? Relieved? Sad? Terrified? If he was honest he didn't really know how to feel about it. One thing he did know for sure though, was that he felt guilty…really, really guilty. _Why should you feel anything at all though?_ The little devil on his shoulder teased and caving to its alluring voice in an instant, Don pulled out the small bottle of whisky that he kept stashed away in the lower drawer…for emergencies such as these.

Taking the cap off, Don ignored the small tumbler and drank straight from the bottle, whilst the angle side of his conscience pleaded with him to consider the ramifications of this action. Ignoring the angel voice, Don took a second pull from the bottle, and almost jumped out of his skin as the phone on his desk began to ring. Fumbling for the receiver, Don watched as little droplets of whiskey fell over his budget report, smudging some of the words and numbers.

"Eppes," Don spoke into the receiver as he used a napkin from his and Robin's lunch to mop up the mess, only to smudge the numbers further, making the document practically illegible.

"Mr Eppes? It's Pauline Holland here from "Dalton's academy for the gifted". I'm calling in relation to an incident involving your nephew this morning." The strict voice of Dylan's principal sounded across the miles.

Don groaned internally before responding, "Ms Holland, hello…what kind of _problem_ is it this time?"

"The kind of which requires a meeting in person," Her voice was disapproving and annoying, _really high pitched and snooty, _Don couldn't help but observe.

Rather than retaliate as he would have done in the past, however, Don decided to kill her with kindness instead, "I'm really sorry Ms Holland. You see I'm at work at the moment and I couldn't possible get away, bank robbers and serial killers to catch and all that…you understand how it is…"

"I understand perfectly Mr Eppes," She replied, matching his tone. "Perhaps Mrs Eppes could come instead," Pauline added slyly, "After all, is she not the one who usually deals with "_problems"_ concerning your nephew..."

Miming hitting the receiver on the desk a few times, Don took a moment to steady his voice before responding, "That won't be necessary Ms Holland…I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

"Thank you Mr Eppes, see you in a bit then," She said smugly, hanging up before Don could even say goodbye.

_Damn, Don_ thought angrily as he looked at his watch and realised that this little rendezvous with Dylan's school was going to make him late for _yet _another meeting with the AD. "Thank you Dylan!" Don growled to no one in particular before picking up his phone and dialling through to his secretary. "Janie? Can you let Nick know I'm going to be late to our meeting," Don asked his secretary as he shoved the budget report in the bin under his desk and pulled out a spare tie from the top drawer of his desk.

"Problem Don?" Janie asked concerned. She had heard the shouting match between Don and Robin earlier and was unsure how to proceed, it was only her first week and Don had a reputation for not being able to keep a secretary.

"Just my errant nephew in trouble again, nothing new. Oh and Janie can you print me out another budget report and fax it over to Nick's office for me please? I'll need it there by the time I get to his office, which at this rate will be never!" Don told her and without waiting for her reply, slammed the receiver down in frustration.

Getting up from his desk, Don raised his shirt collar and began tying a Windsor knot with the spare tie. He couldn't do much about the rumpled shirt and jeans, but Don hoped the tie would go some small way towards appeasing Ms Holland and the rest of her "fancy pants" school.

It was only later as he pulled out of the FBI car park that Don remembered that he'd forgotten to hide the whisky bottle again. Hoping that his secretary wouldn't go in his office, or that she'd assume Robin had brought it with lunch, Don pressed down hard on the accelerator in an attempt to get to Dylan's school in time so that he wouldn't be too late for yet another meeting with the AD.

*30 minutes later,

Outside the principal's office*

It had taken Don a lot longer than he would have liked to find the principal's office and was reluctant to admit that it was because he had shown little interest in Dylan's studies over the years. The truth was Don had only ever visited Dylan's school a handful of times over the last seven years, one of the times was to admit him with his grandfather, as requested in Charlie's will, and another more memorable time was when Dylan had broken his arm and collarbone playing ice hockey, Don hadn't been able to make the game but had immediately dropped everything to get to the hospital to make sure he was ok.

Normally Don would let Robin handle the _messes_ Dylan got himself into over the years. _After all,_ Don reasoned, _when in trouble you call your lawyer not your uncle_, besides Robin was so much more equipped to handle the fat cats of 'Dalton Academy for the Gifted' than Don was and if he was completely honest, he was just too busy to leave work every time Dylan got himself into trouble-which was a lot since his grandfather's funeral.

Don had nothing against the school personally, it was just that he didn't fit into their world, not that he tried too hard to, and as if confirming his doubts, Don watched the few teachers that he did come across take ten seconds or less to size up and dismiss him as not "Dalton Academy Material".

Finding the principal's office at last, Don took a deep breath before he entered the lion's den. He was fifteen minutes late and Don just knew that wherever Pauline Holland was, she was probably calling him every name under the sun and cursing the day the 'Eppes's' ever darkened her doorstep-and he wasn't far off!

"Don Eppes, I'm here for a meeting with Ms Holland concerning Dylan Eppes," Don told the perky receptionist when he eventually went inside, trying to flatten his tie as he realised how under dressed he really was for this school. "I'm afraid I'm a bit late," Don whispered conspiratorially, "I just hope I don't get a tardy slip, I hear Ms Holland is quite strict."

"Oh yes," She giggled in reply, Don was just relieved to see that someone in this school had a sense of humour, "Very strict! Why I wouldn't be surprised if she gave you detention for a week as well."

"A whole week? Oh dear, in that case you'd better wish me luck Miss Moneypenny," Don joked in a Sean Connery accent. With the pinned back blond bun and high cheek bones, Ms Holland's secretary certainly looked like a Bond girl.

Mercifully for Don, as he would have felt like a fool otherwise, she laughed before whispering sultrily in reply, "Then, good luck _Mr Bond_."

Taking her delicate hand in his rough one, Don watched her blush prettily as he held her hand to his mouth and brushed her knuckles with his lips. He didn't know it but she secretly fancied the handsome, dangerous and dishevelled look, the fact that he was an FBI agent with a badge and a gun certainly didn't go amiss either.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Don winked at her, causing her to giggle inanely once more. "Tell me…" Don looked both ways to check no one was listening, "…is it really bad this time?"

"Well…" She played for time, "…I've certainly never seen Ms Holland this angry before. I'd say that your son Dylan is in _a lot_ of trouble this time!" She whispered conspiratorially as she clocked his hand for a wedding ring. When she didn't spot one, she smiled smugly to herself.

"He's _not_ my son," Don replied a little too quickly, causing her blue eyes to crease in confusion. "He's my nephew," Don added lamely when the silence between them grew uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry," She smiled reassuringly, "I'm sure you get that mistake a lot, he really does looks like you!"

"Yes…you should see his dad…spitting image, more so than he and I!" Don smiled whimsically.

"I'll just let Ms Holland know that you're here," She told Don as she got up to move around the desk. She was wearing a pastel blue sweater, with a thin belt strapped around the waist, and a tight hugging beige skirt that came just below her knees. "You can wait in there," She pointed to a small partition in the room, "You'll find your nephew there waiting for you."

Nodding, Don watched hypnotised by the low swing of her hips, which she had purposely accentuated for Don's benefit, as she headed off to the principal's office. He waited until he could no longer hear the tap of her midnight blue suede pumps before frowning thoughtfully to himself. Robin's words from earlier about the last time they had been intimate was bugging him. Perhaps he had been working too hard lately. Perhaps it was time for a little fun…

Before he could talk himself out of it, Don pulled out a business card from his inside jacket pocket and scribbled "Miss Moneypenny: Call me, Bond" on the back and left it on her desk where she would find it. Satisfied, Don went over to the small partition in the room and mentally prepared himself for what he might find.

Behind the partition there were only two benches available as seating, with a small coffee table littered with educational magazines and a fake fern between them. A high reaching bay window was the only source of light behind the partition and Dylan was blocking most of it out as he sat on the small window seat in the alcove with one leg tucked under his chin and the other swinging loosely against the tiled floor. He was dressed in a loose fitting black V-neck sweater, with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, torn jeans and workmen's boots, that were leaving black scuff marks on Ms Holland's clean white floor.

Don watched as an unaware Dylan turned a page in the book he was reading whilst absently tapping his aviator sunglasses against his leg to an unknown beat. He looked so carefree it was hard to believe that he was sat there awaiting judgement. Nevertheless, Don spied a split lip and large purple bruise on his nephew's strong jaw that hadn't been there this morning, or at least he assumed it hadn't as he'd left for work at the crack of dawn again this morning, leaving Robin to make Dylan breakfast.

Coming up behind Dylan, Don yanked the left speaker of Dylan's iPod out of his ear and waited for Dylan to turn it off before asking, "Do I want to know?" Already knowing that he wouldn't.

"It's nothing," Dylan mumbled, parroting Don's own words to Robin earlier.

"If it was _nothing_ I wouldn't _be_ here," Don snapped angrily. Dylan had been pulling this shit for two years now and even though he wasn't usually the one to deal with it, Don had still had enough.

"Why are you here?" Dylan asked with no real interest as he stared intently out of the window. "Where's Robin?"

"That's not important right now," Don sighed tiredly, unable to deal with the inevitable fallout from his divorce right now. "What's important is why you look like crap!"

"I walked into a wall," Dylan hung his head low and pulled his other leg up next to the other one and rested his chin on them.

"What really happened Dylan?" Don asked cutting across the crap as he took a seat on the bench facing Dylan, not that his nephew would look him in the eye right now.

"Why bother, you won't believe me anyway," Dylan folded his book round on its spine so that the front and back covers were touching and began reading once more. It was a normal sweltering day in Los Angeles and Don couldn't see Dylan's face for the shadows that the sun was casting against it.

"Try me," Don expelled the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. Dylan had gotten into many fights over that past two years but he'd usually come out on top. Here and now Dylan looked vulnerable, his lower lip sticking out defiantly in all its red and purple glory.

"Forget it," Dylan whispered so quietly that Don barely heard it, however, there was no mistaking the fists and hunched shoulders. Dylan wasn't vulnerable at all. He was just trying to compress his rage as he'd been shown in his anger management classes. It was there that Dylan had first been introduced to the school's ice hockey coach and after intensive training in the weight rooms, Dylan had joined the team as a first string defender. The idea was to try and get Dylan to leave all his anger out there on the ice but apparently Dylan was angrier than anyone knew.

"Dylan-" Don started again, this time softening his tone.

"-look two jocks were ragging on a mate, so I stood up to them. End of." Dylan fumed, whilst rationalising his actions, he knew he was in big trouble this time not that he'd ever admit it.

"No, not "_end of"_," Don half shouted as he leant forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "How could you be so _stupid_?" Don asked as he jabbed an accusing finger into Dylan's shoulder.

"He insulted dad!" Dylan shouted back as he smacked Don's hand away and looked Don in the eye for the first time since he'd arrived.

"Are you_ high_ right now?" Don asked shocked as he took in his nephew's large pupils and bloodshot eyes. He'd seen enough junkies over the years to recognise the symptoms.

"Don-" Dylan tried to explain but stopped when he heard footsteps outside the small partition. Ms Holland was on her way.

"Just shut up and keep your head down," Don snapped at Dylan before standing up to receive Ms Holland, "We'll talk about this later," he side-whispered furiously.

"_Mr Eppes_," Pauline Holland's strict voice cut through the air, announcing her arrival. She was a short stubby woman with short white hair in a bob. She was dressed formally in a pressed pinstriped suit, reminding Don of his earlier discomfort about being under dressed.

"Ms Holland," Don held his hand out but dropped it again when Pauline made no attempt to shake it.

"Gentlemen, if you'd both follow me," She told them as she cast her infamous scolding gaze over the pair. "My office is just this way," She said sternly and without waiting stalked off to her undoubtedly spacious office. Don waited for Dylan to grab his bag and brown beaten leather jacket before making a sombre procession behind the plump principal.

Back at her desk now, the receptionist mouthed a silent "good luck" to Don, when she was sure that her boss couldn't see her.

"Thanks," he mouthed back as he thought furiously,_ I'm going to need it!_


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

*Inside the Principal's office*

"Let me get straight to the point Mr Eppes," Pauline Holland told Don sternly as she settled her ample weight into her office chair. "Your nephew was caught fighting and drinking on school property-"

"That's a lie!" Dylan shouted angrily, slamming a hand down on Pauline's desk for emphasis.

If Pauline was startled by the gesture, she didn't show it. She was a veteran of meetings such as these, particularly ones involving Dylan. It was going to take a lot more than a few wobbling pen pots to shake her composure. "As you can see here Mr Eppes, Dylan still protests innocence, even in the face of such overwhelming evidence. As Dylan still refuses to tell the truth _and _take responsibility for his actions, I was forced to involve you in these proceedings."

Don watched as Dylan sank lower in his chair, picking at a fraying hole in the knees of his jeans. It wasn't the first time Dylan had sat there accused; Don had just hoped that there wouldn't be a next time. After all Dylan wasn't a bad kid exactly, he'd just made some bad choices over the years, which wasn't hard when it seemed like trouble followed him everywhere.

It was also arguable that Dylan's behaviour was a reflection of the neglect he had faced over the years and as a result of the incident surrounding Charlie and Amita's deaths, and his role in it, Don had let his guilt prevent him from spending any more time with Dylan than was absolutely necessary-something which Alan had credited his grandson's constant trouble making to.

However, Don didn't need to spend time with Dylan to know the look that now clouded his nephew's hardened eyes. Don had seen that look before, a long time ago on Charlie when he had been falsely accused, by their father, for breaking their mother's favourite snow globe. It was because of that look that Don had owned up to swinging his baseball bat carelessly in the house, something which Charlie, who back then had cried easily in the face of accusation, was immensely grateful for.

That, Don supposed, was one of the few things that father and son didn't have in common. Mind you, Dylan had been forced to do a lot of growing up in those beginning years, with Don incapable of his care and Alan an old man, Dylan had been forced to look out for number one for more years than he could count. It had quickly become apparent over the years, that Dylan could only rely on his grandfather and with him now gone, Dylan was once more forced to accept the reality that he was alone in this cruel world-from which it seemed there was no reprieve.

It broke Don's heart to think back to those few weeks surrounding his brother and sister-in-law's deaths. Nevertheless it was the catalyst for all their troubles, Don's and Dylan's that is, so go back there he must. For it was no secret that Dylan was a mystery to Don; mostly because he had never taken the time, nor put in any effort, to properly get to know his nephew.

_Perhaps Dylan gets into these scrapes to punish me for that, _Don thought selfishly. No father was bad enough but an absentee uncle was unforgiveable, for Dylan knew in his heart, that if he had been alive Charlie would have been there for his son. Don had had a choice and he had never once chosen Dylan-something which Dylan had resented him for ever since. Dylan needed a proper male role model and father figure and unfortunately that hadn't been Don, not then, and certainly not now.

Don did, however, feel guilty about his lack of interest, as it must have seemed to Dylan, because he knew that if he had just been stronger, for himself and his nephew, their lives could be better now. Instead he had let his grief overpower him until his heart had been as raw as his hands from filling his brother's grave. Unable to cope back then and incapable of basic interaction, Don had locked himself away, refusing to see anyone-especially his nephew. He had refused food and drank only beer, lots and lots of beer-not that it was enough to drown out the pain inside of him. He was angry, he was sad, he was terrified and nothing had changed. Don had run from his responsibilities then and was still running today. After all, he had only taken Dylan in a second time out of obligation to his brother.

Back then he had been a sorry excuse for a man and Don despised himself for his previous actions. How Robin had stayed with him all those years and how his father had never lost hope, was beyond Don. He had sneered in the face of her false optimism and hated her for never leaving him alone. Little did he realise it was because Robin had thought that by being available every waking minute, her husband would somehow snap out of his depression and come back to her. Instead he'd dug his heels in deeper and resisted her every step of the way. He'd been a bastard and said more than his fair share of nasty things to her, some of which he dared not think about now because to think about what he had said was to think about the hurt he had seen and ignored in her eyes.

Though it was not a good excuse, Don could only attribute his behaviour to the blinding hot resentment he had felt about her ability to move on so quickly. To be able to work and socialize without the fear of bursting into spontaneous fits of crying or laughter. Don was jealous of her strength and angry that Charlie's death had been nothing more than a footnote in her life, or so it had seemed to Don at the time and consequently had sent them all down the path that they now faced. No, at the end of the day Don had not just wanted space, he had _needed_ space, lots and lots of space-and beer.

They had certainly been dark days and it was easy to say that Don had not been in his right mind. His clothes hung off of him from the dramatic weight loss and his eyes were constantly shadowed from the lack of sleep. That was one thing that he and his nephew had had in common. They had both been incapable of sleep and at the time-perhaps for the only time in Dylan's life-Don had felt a need to protect the small child that clutched his uncle's t-shirt in his tiny fists as if he too could vanish at any moment.

Only Don was able to rock his nephew to sleep and whilst most uncles might have taken pride in that fact Don had only wept more, for he blamed himself for the fate of that tiny child, that was no taller than the length of his arm. It was that guilt that had driven Don to ignore his nephew as he grew older and it was his nephew's resemblance, in face and in action, to his father that had driven Don to drink harder liquids than beer. It was the obvious guilt and the fear of this new harder, drunken Don that had caused Robin to ask Alan to take custody of Dylan and though it might not have felt like it at the time, Dylan was better off for it.

Strangely, to Don anyway, he felt a similar need to protect his nephew now and it was long overdue. Don often wondered if his nephew even remembered those dark nights, when Don stroked his soft black curls and prayed that the small child in his arms could find some semblance of peace in sleep that he couldn't from his nightmarish reality.

Looking now at his nephew's bowed head, Don realised that he had been silent for some time and that Pauline was eying him curiously from the other side of her desk. There was always the chance that Dylan was guilty and that the 'look', which had first sent Don on his long trip down memory lane in the first place, was just a by-product of Dylan's budding resentment, but Don's gut instinct told him otherwise and a cop always trusts his instincts.

"Ms Holland," Don replied, placing a warning hand on Dylan's outstretched arm. "Perhaps a mistake has been made here…my nephew does not drink and as for fighting, he tells me the other boy started the fight..." Don spoke calmly, lying through his teeth and prayed against hell that Pauline wouldn't call his bluff.

"_That other boy_ is a straight 'A' student, class president and this school's all-star quarterback. His record is exemplary, unlike Mr Eppes's here," She ranted, her face turning pink from the effort. "Not to mention the fact that your nephew was _caught_ in _possession _of the alcohol whilst standing over the other boy, who I might add is in hospital right now getting his fractured wrist seen to!"

Speechless from the passion in her words Don took a moment to reassess the damage. It appeared that the 'innocent until proven guilty' defence would not apply here-not that it ever had where Dylan was concerned. Still as District Attorney, Robin would have been able to pull it off; after all she had done in the past on several occasions. _Swallow your pride and call her, _his conscience niggled at him_. No way! _Don retaliated against himself. It was clear that Pauline had already passed judgement on Dylan and the injustice churned Don's stomach.

"Keep your head down," Don had told Dylan at the beginning of the school year, "I don't want you pulling any of the shit you did last year! You've got one year left. _DON'T screw it up!_" It appeared, however, that once again Dylan hadn't listened. _He fractured the quarterback's arm! _Don thought furiously, _that's not keeping your head down and maintaining a low profile. _

It was clear nonetheless, by the distinct look of displeasure on Pauline's face that Dylan was in a whole lot of trouble and it made Don uneasy to think that his nephew might have done what she claimed he did. Either way, innocent or guilty, family was family and Don vowed to do his best to do right by his brother's son, even if that son was a giant pain in Don's ass.

Casting his gaze about Pauline's office, Don ignored his slouching nephew and looked for a way, any way of getting Dylan out of yet another mess he'd managed to create for himself. Spying a bottle of absinth on a side cabinet, Don smiled slyly to himself as he found the answer he'd been looking for. "Is that the bottle in question over there?" Don schooled his voice and motioned with his head to the bottle of green liquid.

"Yes…" Pauline responded weary, even Dylan looked up at him from under the soft curls that fell into his bloodshot eyes. Don was amazed at how Dylan managed to look like the poster child for teenage rebellion whilst maintaining a childish innocence.

_Look down damn it,_ Don tried to telepathically tell his nephew but, it was clear that as par usual, Dylan wasn't listening. "Then Ms Holland, I can tell you without a shadow of a doubt, that that bottle there is not Dylan's," Don continued, maintaining eye contact with Pauline to sell the lie.

"Really? Please do tell me how you came to such a conclusion Mr Eppes," Pauline retorted condescendingly. Don could read the '_yeah please do' _in Dylan's eyes.

"Absinth is made with aniseed. My nephew here is allergic to aniseed. To buy, let alone drink that bottle would be a death sentence," Don told her sagely, his tone gravely serious. "It's no wonder his eyes are all puffed up," Don added as an afterthought.

"There is no record of that in his file," Pauline replied disbelievingly.

"That's probably because aniseed and alcohol are not found nor permitted in this school and my wife undoubtedly didn't think to tell you," Don lied easily.

"In which case there is still the matter of fighting on school property and causing grievous bodily harm!" Pauline replied peevishly. _No doubt disappointed to hear that the bottle belonged to her star pupil,_ Don thought mischievously as he chuckled internally.

His satisfaction was short lived, however, when Dylan's bag started playing the first bars of Styx's 'Renegade'. "Sorry," Dylan mumbled as he faffed about in his bag and upon finding his mobile sent Robin's call to voicemail.

"Mr Eppes, perhaps it would be better if we talked _alone_. Dylan if you would just wait outside a minute," Pauline motioned to the door impatiently and waited for Dylan to leave before readdressing Don. "I'm going to be franc Mr Eppes-"

"-In which case I'll be Walters," Don joked, referring to the Irish alternative rock group he'd heard blasting from Dylan's room on occasion-depending upon his temperamental nephew's mood that is.

Sighing loudly, Pauline stood up and walked over to a filing cabinet nearby, Don noticed that at some point during the conversation she had removed her sensible black shoes. "Don, this is Dylan's file," She said, softening her tone as she held up an incredibly thick file. It wasn't just the thickness of the file that was alarming; it was the fact that most of the offenses in there had occurred post Alan's funeral.

Dylan was angry, they all knew that. After all it was the reason why he had been sent to anger management classes in the first place. The truth was, however, that Dylan wasn't just angry…he was furious. He had known more about loss, bereavement and abandonment before he was six years old, than most people ever knew and as irrational as it was, Dylan's anger was mostly directed at his parents for leaving him, his uncle for ignoring him and his grandfather for lying and making excuses for Don.

Nonetheless, as angry as he was, he had learnt early on to swallow that anger and to push it down until on the surface he seemed like any other child running carelessly through the playground. It wasn't until after Alan's funeral when Dylan went back to school and came home with black eye after black eye that anyone even noticed the hard edge to the eyes that those bruises surrounded.

Many claimed that Alan's untimely death was the straw that had eventually broken the camel's back. Unlocking several years of pent up anger and aggression, it was clear that Dylan wanted and _needed_ to vent. It was just a question of getting him to do it on the ice where 'bodychecking' someone against a wall wasn't illegal.

Dylan was never a social boy. He was as alone in school as he was at home and within the last two years, Dylan had slowly withdrawn himself even further from the few meagre people he had considered friends.

The problem, Dylan found, with bereavement was that no one knew how to act around him anymore. He was a downer to be around. He dressed in black and hardly seemed to laugh, let alone smile anymore and whilst he was busy hiding his tears from the world, the world moved on without him.

Now two years later, the scars merely bandaged over than properly healed, Dylan found that he was what most high schools called a 'loner' or a 'reject', which most jocks took as a reason to give him a hard time. It sickened Dylan to think about how bullied he'd been before joining the ice hockey team. He'd been weak and pathetic and eventually that skinny gangly teen had had enough. For the first time he swung back and though he usually got his ass kicked, he also managed to land a few good blows of his own first.

When it seemed like the fights were practically a daily occurrence, Pauline Holland decided to send him to anger management classes with the school therapist. They were grouped sessions and it was there that the ice hockey coach, who sat in on the sessions to help show positive ways to use aggression, scouted Dylan for the team. With the coach's help, Dylan's muscles eventually grew and finally Dylan was able to defend himself properly. It meant he could finally retaliate against the football playing jocks that had tortured him relentlessly following his grandfather's death-something which he did a little too often-hence the thick file.

Besides his loner status, Dylan quickly became feared amongst the lower years and many rumours about him began to circulate, as they do in such small communities, one of which was that Dylan had been to prison for killing a guy. None of them were true of course-not that it mattered to Dylan. He had managed to make a few friends on the team despite the rumours and secretly liked that because of it everyone else left him alone most of the time, even if that did mean putting up with the endless whispering around him.

Whether or not his school record was just an attempt by Dylan to get his uncle's attention or not, however, was yet to be seen. Either way Don had no attention to give because to do so would mean he cared. Which he did of course. Perhaps too much if that was possible-not that his actions said as much. For Don, at the end of the day, the truth was Dylan was used to looking out for himself and Don really needed to get back to work. He had his priorities and much to Robin and Dylan's constant disappointment, it wasn't them.

"Apart from alcohol," Pauline conceded as she broke back into Don's reverie, "Your nephew has flounced every rule this school has. Now I had hoped that by putting Dylan in anger management classes and letting him join the ice hockey team, even though his grades are almost non-existent, that he would keep his head down and do better. An improvement remains to be seen, however!"

"Hey!" Don shouted outraged on Dylan's behalf.

"I'm not _finished_ Mr Eppes!" Pauline shouted, matching his tone-any previous softness forgotten. "It is with a grave heart that I am telling you this will be Dylan's last screw up here at Dalton Academy. He is as of tomorrow expelled!"

"Now wait a minute! You can't expel Dylan!" Don shouted angrily as he stood up and hit the desk for emphasis. His hit was stronger than Dylan's previous one and this time Don watched as the pen pots did a lot more than wobble and came crashing to the floor. The thick carpet broke their fall, much to Don's relief. Taking a deep breath and rushing to pick up the scattered stationary, Don waited until his flash of anger passed before readdressing the shaken principal-no doubt she was thinking that this was clearly where Dylan got his anger from.

"Ms Holland…Pauline, _please,_ I know Dylan has had a lot of chances over the years but I _refuse_ to accept that you've turned your back on him…_I know I haven't..._not yet anyway_._ Look," Don exhaled sharply, "I'll donate enough money to buy another library if I have to. Just don't expel Dylan. I know he's a handful but he deserves another chance. He _did not_ start that fight and if I remember correctly bullying is also something that is not tolerated at this school! Now just because my nephew was able to defend himself should not be grounds for expulsion!" Don's chest heaved with pent up emotion.

Pauline's expression was unreadable, "Ok then Mr Eppes, I am suspending Dylan for two weeks starting tomorrow with afterschool detention for a month or as long as it takes for his grades to pick up. I will of course be assigning a tutor to him during those sessions."

"Thank you-" Don started to say but was cut short.

"I'm warning you now though Don, this is strike two for Dylan. Next time I am expelling him and no guilt about your brother or the library he donated will convince me otherwise!" Storming over to the door, she held it open for Don and waited expectantly for him to leave.

Outside the confines of her grand office, Don leaned his back against the wall of the long corridor for a moment to catch his breath. Pauline was not the only one with latent guilt about Dylan's dad and Don needed a moment to compose himself before he found and murdered his nephew.

*10 minutes later,

In the Car park of 'Dalton Academy for the Gifted'*

The sun beat down abrasively upon the suspecting pair. Heat rising from every pore as uncle and nephew glared at each other from under thin cream canvases that did little to protect them from the sun's oppressive rays. Neither one spoke but the subtext between them was as thick as the atmosphere in the school's summer pavilion that doubled as the school's car park.

Jumping up onto the bonnet of Don's black SUV, Dylan crossed his arms, his legs kicking carelessly at the cars radiator as he waited his uncle out. If there was one thing Don was known for it was his impatience and Dylan refused to blink first. To do so as an act of weakness in Dylan's eyes and he had vowed long ago that he would never show such weakness again.

After all it was showing weakness in the first place that had caused the bullying to start. They had all sensed he was vulnerable and like vultures had picked away at the remains of that naive lonely little orphan that had wanted nothing more than the acknowledgement from his uncle that he even existed. That little boy was still in Dylan, somewhere…but the more at odds he found himself with Don, the quieter the voice got and by now it was nothing more than a whisper in the wind. There was only silence in his soul now. A damaged gritty silence that spoke of years of unhappiness and while Don still refused to see it; the last two years were the loneliest of Dylan's life.

It amazed Dylan still how a person could be so angry for so long. That even now, years later, he could still be grieving for the loss of his parents, his grandfather and the life he should have had instead of this one. It was one weakness amongst many and Dylan resented Don for not getting it…for not being there…for not making it better and whilst he knew that he should keep his anger in check more he couldn't help the odd incident. Especially when it wasn't his fault…this time.

What else was Dylan supposed to have done when the quarterback had insulted his dad? Walked away? The little orphan that was bullied so relentlessly over the years didn't have it inside of him to walk away anymore. Try as he might, the strength it took to ignore their taunts escaped him. His father was still a raw wound that had never healed. Poking at it was just like poking at a bear with a stick. Quickly and without remorse, the bear would swipe you with one of its massively clawed paws before you even had time to react and similarly, Dylan had struck back with equal force, and truth be told he'd gotten a grim satisfaction from dropping his old rival to his knees.

To see the edge of alarm in his cruel grey eyes as Dylan stood towering over him. I had been a massive rush and so what if the wuss had landed on his wrist and gotten a tiny fracture in his throwing hand? Dylan couldn't help that any more than he could help that the baby wouldn't be able to start in the game Friday night because of it. Dylan had played with worse injures in ice hockey and had been just fine. For a moment, Dylan just smiled twistedly to himself as he remembered just how dramatically the roles had been reversed between him and his old bully. It wasn't Dylan's fault that the thick idiot hadn't gotten the hint that this new toned Dylan was equal if not better than him at fighting now for all the practice he had gotten on the ice.

"I don't know what you're smiling about!" Don told Dylan gruffly, breaking the silence and causing Dylan to shrug indifferently. "Sure go ahead, laugh. Have your fun, 'cause later, when the high wears off, that lip of yours is going to hurt like ass and you won't get any sympathy from me!"

"-I'd be shocked if I did-," Dylan mumbled under his breath so that Don couldn't quite catch it.

"-I mean, what possessed you to hit that guy in the first place?" Don continued, he couldn't quite put his finger on how he felt right now. _Not quite angry…maybe disappointed?_ He thought quietly to himself whilst he waited expectantly for Dylan's reply.

"I didn't like his face," Dylan told Don sarcastically, knowing that Don wouldn't listen anyway. After all, Don had been his high school's star. He ridden the baseball team right to the state championships every year he'd played. Dylan wouldn't have been surprised if they had put up a plaque honouring his efforts. No, people like Don just didn't get rejects like his nephew.

"You didn't like his face…great, marvellous!" Don shouted as he turned away from his nephew, frustrated beyond words. He'd heard many excuses from Dylan over the years-most of them lies. No, something else was going on here and Don was going to get a better answer than '_I didn't like his face'_ for once. "You don't even get how much trouble you are in right now. _Do you_?" Dylan just shrugged his indifference once more causing Don's anger to bubble up inside of him, like a volcano waiting to erupt. "She expelled you Dylan!" Don shouted, spinning back to face his nephew and was satisfied to see a note of alarm in his arrogant adolescent eyes. "You're just lucky that I managed to talk her down to two weeks suspension and a moth of after school detentions with a tutor for your crap grades, _which_ you lied to me about!"

"No I didn't!" Dylan shouted back, matching Don's indignant tone, "I've put every report card I've ever gotten on the fridge for you to see. The 'F' has he staring you in the face for the last two months. If you actually paid attention to anything that wasn't work related for five minutes then maybe you'd know!"

"And the drugs? If I'd "_paid attention", _how long would I have noticed that's been going on, eh?" Don replied bitterly, raising one eyebrow critically at his stoned nephew, when Dylan didn't reply he went on, "At what point were you going to tell me that you're a junkie? Hm?"

"About the same time you were going to tell me that we're moving out tonight!" Dylan spat back, his temper rising. The second he had left the principal's office he had checked his voice mail from Robin. It was safe to say that he was not happy about the situation, after all things were bad enough between Don and Dylan as it was. Without Robin for company, Dylan foresaw a lot of lonely nights and ready meals in his future.

"Don't change the subject!" Don swore internally at his wife, this was not how he had wanted Dylan to find out. Besides he was too mad at Dylan right now to justify the end of his marriage. "_How_ long have you been taking drugs!"

"As of today?" Dylan's lip curled in response to his uncle's hypocrisy, "Today."

"Right…and I'm what? Supposed to take your word on that? Huh?" Don said as he stepped closer to Dylan, his eyes cracking with unrepressed anger.

"Right…" Dylan mocked back, "After all, why would the drunk believe the junkie?"

"What did you say?" Don shouted sharply at his nephew.

"Well if the bottle fits," Dylan replied as sharply, his whole body coiling in defence as he jumped down from the front of Don's SUV. He'd had enough of this conversation and he had been stupid to think that he and Don could every reach any kind of understanding.

"You ungrateful little shit-" Don started as Dylan walked past him, his bag on one shoulder and his jacket slung over the other.

"-what? Big man can't handle the truth?" Dylan overrode his simmering uncle as he spun back around. His conscience telling him to leg it before either of them said something they couldn't come back from, however, his pride stopped him. "You can't even smell it can you? You reek of scotch. Your breath, your clothes. It's no wonder Robin went elsewhere!"

Angry beyond words and without thinking, Don grabbed two fistfuls of his nephew's sweater, catching him off balance, and swung him violently towards his car. Dylan crumpled to the ground, kicking up stones and dirt everywhere. He lay there prone for what seemed like hours in Don's worried eyes, but in reality was only seconds.

Horrified at himself, Don rushed to his nephew's side, "Dylan…I'm _so _sorry…I didn't mean to! I…I don't know why I...Dylan? DYLAN!"

Coughing from the small dust cloud around him, Dylan slowly pushed himself up, rocking back onto his knees. The right side of his face was covered in dirt and trickles of blood from a small cut that had opened up above his eyebrow when he'd hit the ground rolling. There were also small scratches on his hands and knees, which were left unprotected by the large holes in his jeans. Holding up his hand to his sore lip, Dylan was shocked by the blood that came away, he must have hit his chin in the confusion, causing his split lip to bleed once more.

"Dylan…" Don tried again, but Dylan just shook his head and shrugged off his uncle's helping hand.

"Don't touch me," Dylan told him quietly, spitting blood as he spoke.

"_Dylan,"_ Don tried to apologise again, but stopped at the eerie anger in his nephew's eyes. There was an unforgiving hatred there and it stopped Don cold.

"Why don't you just go back to work and forget I exist!" Dylan growled angrily as blood splattered his uncle's shirt, "After all it's what your good at!"

"D," Don tried using Dylan's nickname, but it fell on deaf ears. Getting up, Dylan snatched his bag up from where it had fallen in the tussle, and slung it back over his shoulder. Stopping only once to spit blood at his uncle's feet, Dylan half stalked-half limped off, his eyes watering and his lip trembling with rage, hatred and bitter resentment.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

*Outside Don's Office*

"Dylan? Dylan…it's Don, again. Look, I'm really sorry about earlier…_please_ just…_call_ _me_. Let me know that you're ok…_ok_? Dylan?" Sighing audibly, Don hung up the phone and waited impatiently for the lift to reach his office floor. It was the seventh message that Don had left for Dylan since his storming off and before the day was through, it wouldn't be his last. Don felt genuine remorse and blame for losing his temper with Dylan earlier and…for his actions afterwards. For once Don's conscience wouldn't let him pretend it away and the guilt was churning up his stomach. Bringing Dylan's number up on the small display of his mobile once more, Don's thumb hovered over the green phone icon, unsure whether or not to try again and unsure whether or not his nephew would even pick up if he did. Thinking better of it, Don shoved his mobile into his right jeans pocket before hitting the button for his floor again in frustration.

It was half past three in the afternoon and Don was knackered beyond belief. He'd asked his wife for a divorce and slammed his nephew against a car and all in the space of a few hours. _Could this day get any worse?_ Don cursed internally and instantly regretted his words as the lift doors glided open. Sitting on the soft green couch in the small antechamber of Don's office, Harvey leafed through his newspaper-never stopping long enough to actually read any of the articles inside. Looking up as the elevator chimed to announce Don's arrival, Harvey nodded a polite hello before standing up, folding his newspaper in half and stuffing it under his arm.

"Don," He said gravely as Janie also stood up for Don's stunned arrival. "_Is that blood?"_ Harvey asked appalled, his nose wrinkling in concern.

"How dare you come here," Don seethed ignoring the comment, his afternoon at the principal's office instantly forgotten.

"Look, Don, we need to talk about this," Harvey replied, his tone even as his eyes shifted passed Janie to Don's office, "_alone._"

"Well I don't want to talk about anything _with you_," Don replied petulantly as he stood in front of the lift doors and refused to come any closer.

"Mr Eppes…" His secretary wavered uncertainly at the anger in her boss's eyes as he squared off on his ex-friend. She knew it had been a mistake to let Harvey wait on the couch and now she wished she'd been more resistant to the man's charms, for the look on her boss's face spoke of dangerous and dark thoughts and early retirement for her. Unsure what to do next, she decided to try and defuse the situation by distracting the now fuming Don, "How was your meeting with the AD? Did the fax get there ok? I'm useless with that machine…I'm really sorry, if it didn't arrive in time…"

"Pardon?" Don stared blankly at his rambling secretary.

"The…the…budget…report…" She stammered uncertainly. She had debts up to her eyeballs and children to feed, she really couldn't afford for Don to find fault with her work and sack her.

"Crap! The AD!" Don swore as he realised that he had well and truly missed his meeting.

After slamming Dylan against the car, Don had driven all over downtown LA searching for him and though it pained Don to admit it, he really didn't know his nephew well enough to know where he would storm off to. Los Angeles is a big city, especially when you're an abused teenager who doesn't want to be found. After two hours, Don had given up the search and returned straight to the office, forgetting all about the AD and their meeting.

"Get Nick on the phone," Don told Janie, ignoring the affronted traitor next to his couch. Harvey hated it when people were rude and the childish side of Don couldn't help but take pleasure in Harvey's controlled rigid anger.

"Don!" He spoke sharply and flinched fractionally when Don finally rounded on him. To anyone else, Harvey could have hidden that spark of alarm in his hazel eyes. Not to Don though, he'd known him far too long for that.

"I don't have time for this," Don told Harvey as he made his way back over to the lift and pushed the up button.

"Then make time," The feared prosecutor in Harvey roared impatiently as he made his way over to the lift and put his foot in the doorway to stop it from leaving.

"Back off Harvey, or so help me God I will knock you down where you stand. It's been that kind of day," Don told Harvey with steely resentment as he pushed the button for Nick's office floor.

"Not until we talk about this," Harvey stated equally pissed.

"Fine," Don leaned back in the lift against the hand rail as green sleeves played overhead, "Talk."

"What Robin and I had, it was special. I've never felt that way about anyone before…I never will again."

"How touching," Don said scornfully, "Fortunately for you then I've told Robin that I want a divorce. She's a free agent now or does that turn you off? I always knew that you fooled around with other men's wives but I never imagined that even you would have the gall to sleep with mine!"

"I love her!" Harvey cried passionately, "But she loves you. She won't give up Don. She's determined to win you back and we both know that Robin gets what Robin wants."

"Not this time. I don't love her anymore…and that's the only reason why I haven't smashed your lying face in," Don spoke candidly.

"I didn't mean to hurt you Don," Harvey looked down ashamed, "Love does strange things to a man…"

"You don't even know what love is Harv," Don sighed sadly, wanting nothing more than to hit the man that had fucked his wife. Nevertheless, his nephew's eyes haunted him still, and though it would give him nothing but great pleasure to wipe the smug look off his oldest friend's face, Don knew that he couldn't act on it. Besides, he should be thanking the man in front of him. After all he had given Don the perfect reason to get out of his loveless marriage.

It was just the thought of Harvey's hands all over Robin, kissing her and loving her in ways that Don was now incapable of. It really pissed Don off and so what if he was being petty or spiteful, he felt entitled to act badly, just not as badly as he had with his nephew earlier. Don just hoped Dylan was ok, wherever he was.

"You could never love her Harv, not the way that _I_ loved her. If Charlie hadn't died…if things were_ different_, you wouldn't have even gotten a look in. As it is…I'll tell you what I told her earlier. We can't go back you and I or me and her…not now…_not ever_. I just…_I can't_. I don't have the forgiveness in me anymore. I'm not a bigger man…but I'm also not an unreasonable one either. I don't love her anymore and you think that you do. So just don't hurt her…ok? She deserves better than me and certainly more than your limited interest."

"I won't Don…_I promise_," Harvey said honestly as he stepped back and let the doors slide shut. Sagging slightly in his relief to be alone, Don pushed the button for Nick's floor once more, this time praying that the lift would take its sweet ass time in getting there so that he could mentally prepare himself for the rest of what was already proving to be a very long and trying day.

*Outside the AD's Office*

Stepping out of the comfort of the lift on the twentieth floor, Don made a B-line straight for the AD's grand corner office-nodding to some people in their tiny cubicles whilst ignoring others and as he reached the office on the far end of the large room, Don took a deep breath and squared off his shoulders before entering the small secretarial antechamber-not unlike his own smaller one. Inside he found Norma, Nick's secretary tapping ferociously at her keyboard, her old withered fingers moving at the speed of light. "You're late," She told Don without missing a beat; she was infamous for her ability to multitask, amongst other things.

"I'm here now," Don replied nonchalantly, feeling like an errant child about to be severely reprimanded.

Cocking a curious eyebrow, Norma raked her old shrunken eyes over Don's bedraggled appearance, "At least you wore a tie…_this time_," She said despairingly. An institute in her own right, Norma had been working as secretary to the AD since the building was first built many years ago, or so it seemed. Many AD's had come and gone over the years but not Norma. No, she had never left, making her the oldest and the most knowledgeable secretary in the business. She knew where all the bodies were buried and Don had soon learnt that it was important to keep Norma on side, especially when you had skeletons in the closet to hide. It didn't matter what they were because she always knew and all ways remembered. Whilst her body was frail and bony, her mind was still as sharp as ever.

"I had to go to Dylan's school," Don replied, seeing no reason to lie, Janie would have already called through this message earlier.

"And that's how you choose to dress for a respectable institution such as the 'Dalton Academy for the gifted'?" She feigned shock as she widened her eyes to the max and placed a liver spotted hand upon her drooping bosom, only the slightest of twitches at the corners of her dry mouth betraying her sharp wit.

"They didn't give me much time to change," Don shrugged as he sat down on the edge of her desk and picked up a heavy paperweight in the shape if a saxophone-a gift no doubt from one of her many grand or great-grandchildren.

"Another impromptu visit to the academy?" She said surprised, "What has that rascal of a nephew of yours been up to this time?"

"The usual," Don frowned at the morning's memory. "Drink, drugs and fighting on school property. Fortunately I managed to talk the old witch down to suspension from expulsion," Don sighed tiredly as he rubbed at his sore eyes.

"Well Nick's inside," She cocked her head towards the door behind and to the left of her desk as she patted Don's knee affectionately, which was oddly comforting.

"Thanks," Don squeezed her wrinkled hand appreciatively as he extracted himself from her desk. "I'll just go straight in. Fingers crossed he's in a good mood. I don't want him to take my tardiness the wrong way. I didn't mean it as a slight or sign of disrespect."

"He won't," Norma smiled secretively as she turned back to her typing. "I recon he'll be in very high spirits."

"Ok…" Don smiled uncertainly as he took another deep breath before knocking twice on the solid oak door. When no one answered Don took it upon himself to enter and was surprised by the scene before him. It wasn't unlike the one of Don and Robin this morning, with precariously stacked folders towering around Nick and a woman friend. It was Nick, an old buddy from Quantico that had first patented the office floor filing system that Don had later adopted for himself.

Despite Norma's predictions of a very cordial Nick, Don had braced himself for Nick's usual thin disapproving frown, instead Nick-who was in the process of laughing at what appeared to be the funniest joke ever-just gave Don a quizzical glance as he opened the office door, sending one of the file towers crashing to the ground in a scattering of paper. "Don," He smiled warmly, "Can I help you?"

"I'm sorry I'm late," Don half mumbled from the blocked doorway, "Do you still want the meeting?"

"Meeting? Oh yes, of course. Yes I would like to keep the meeting, we were just waiting for you to turn up and got a little side-tracked I'm afraid," Nick smiled at his company whilst gesturing to the mess around them. "Please come in," Nick waved Don inside as he got up and started shifting files to make room for Don on the small over stuffed couch.

Slipping properly into the room, Don waited for Nick to help the woman up from the floor before sitting down in the space created for him. "I presume that Janie sent through the copy of the budget report?" Don asked, crossing his legs and twisting his fingers into a knot in his lap, hoping to starve off the inevitable questions his appearance would rise.

"Yes…I will look at it later when I get a moment. Until then, may I introduce Special Agent Amanda Burns," Nick gestured to the beautiful woman sat in one of Nick's two guest chairs facing Don.

Slowly she looked up from a file she had in her lap, Nick and Don sat mesmerised as the sun filtered through her loose red curls that framed her heart shaped face. Frowning slightly, Don wondered where he had met this woman before and why she had such a physical effect on him when she was not his usual type at all. She had large Disney blue eyes that regarded Don curiously in his naked appraisal of her.

Besides her wild hair, she was dressed in dramatic shades of colour that clashed horribly with her hair. It was as if someone had swung a paint bucket madly around Nick's large office and whilst Don found the startling colour too much, Nick looked like he was worshiping the exotic creature that was crossing and uncrossing her long legs nervously. It appeared that Don made her as nervous as she made him.

"Hi, I'm Don Eppes," Don told Amanda stiffly as he fought the warmth spreading to the pit of his stomach-much akin to a desire that Don hadn't felt in a long time and didn't want to feel now, not here and not for this woman.

She blushed furiously at his obvious disapproval, causing Don to notice the light feathering of freckles on her smooth cheeks and small button nose. Don didn't care, however, as he got the distinct impression that he was about to be stitched up in one of Nick's wild new schemes to make the department more effective.

"Don," Nick said with a note of warning in his tone, telling Don to play nice. "Amanda is transferring here and I would like her to learn from you and her team. She's fresh from the farm, so play nice…ok?"

"If you review the budget report I sent you, there's no room for another team member," Don told Nick in false apology. "I've no doubt you finished top of your class and come highly recommended but I'm afraid my hands are tied," Don told Amanda, relishing the small pout and widened eyes by Don's rudeness.

"Well I'm untying them for you Don," Nick smiled waspishly, "Because I'm making room for her on your team. She has special talents that will be of use to you."

"I'm sure she does," Don gave her an arrogant cock of his lips as he slowly raked his eyes over her large breasts and long legs, horribly dressed in a long flowing floral patterned monstrosity called a dress. "But we've already got Colby who can tie a cherry stalk in a knot with his tongue so we're covered thanks." Don watched with satisfaction as her porn star mouth formed a slight o of indignation.

"Don! That's enough!" Nick shouted angrily, shocked at Don's poor behaviour. "Amanda, will you please excuse us?" Nick asked without taking his glare off of Don.

"Certainly," She said calmly in a southern belle accent that oddly suited her, not that Don would ever admit it. Getting up, she glided across the room, lifting her dress to step over Don's outstretched legs, revealing cowboy boots below, and left the room with a small click of the door handle.

"How dare you!" Nick fumed instantly rounding on Don, who sat a little straighter in the face of his friends rage. "You come here late, covered in blood and dirt and then start insulting another agent! What's gotten into you?" Nick fumed.

"It's been a rough day," Don replied exhausted.

"So that's cause to be an arrogant ass?" Nick replied unforgivingly.

"Who is this woman to you?" Don asked curiously, wondering why her voice had felt familiar and why the trail of her perfume was causing his thoughts to scatter. He'd taken an instant disliking to her because she was multicolour to his black and white. She looked distracting and Don didn't need that in his already complicated life, which Nick knew. _So why is he pushing this?_ Don thought irritably to himself, there were other SAIC's that Nick could be forcing her on.

"She's the woman I asked to marry me years ago," Nick stood up and walked to the wall sized window behind his desk, his expression hidden from Don but his tone implying sorrow.

"The one that turned you down?" Don asked, remembering briefly that years ago Nick had had a wild affair with Charlie's teaching assistant before she turned his proposal down and moved to Virginia. "Please tell me that…that…woman was _not _Charlie's TA!

"Yes," Nick sighed before turning around to face his friend's naked contempt. "I know you refuse to accept that there was a life before Charlie died but you need her. Your success rate has dropped dramatically since Charlie…and she's here as his-"

"Replacement?" Don cut in cruelly.

"His successor. Her knowledge of mathematics is second only to Charlie's and she has a badge, so she can be more effective to the department," Nick reasoned soundly.

"I _won't _have her on my team," Don told Nick unreasonably.

"Tough Don because she already is. You can resist it but she's here to stay…so you better get used to it." Nick replied, as the vein in his forehead pulsed with repressed frustration.

"You bastard!" Don whispered furiously.

"Watch your tone Don, I'm still the AD and my word is final. She is off today, but you can take her down to your floor and introduce her to the team. Here is your next assignment. I'm being pressured by the mayor to get this one sorted quickly, so get Robin over here ASAP and start sharing information."

"I can't do that," Don said, staring at the file as if it could bite him. "I accept that I have no say in the matter over_ her_, but I asked Robin for a divorce this morning. There is no way she would work with me."

"Really? Well your wrong, Robin's the one who brought me the case. She's clearly being the bigger person," Nick raised an eyebrow at Don.

"Fine…I'll take the case, just don't expect me to be happy about it," Don snatched the file from Nick's out stretched grasp before storming from the office in a huff.

"I never do," Nick sighed sadly at his departed friend's back before getting back to work.

*Hours Later*

"I know what I said," Colby sighed exasperatingly as his wife continued to chide him over his constant forgetfulness.

"I was mortified!" Liz cried over the line, "Brandon kept crying and you were nowhere to be seen. Plus, I swear he kept giving me that look!"

"Honey, you're just tired and imagining it. The minister doesn't think you're a bad mother," Colby tried to calm his irrational wife to no avail.

"It was embarrassing having to make excuses for you. I mean, where were you?" Liz asked Colby genuinely distressed as the sound of crying could be heard in the background. "I know sweetie," Liz whispered to their son, "Shhh don't cry, don't cry."

"Liz, I'm really sorry I genuinely just forgot. I got some cryptic voicemail from Don about Dylan. It sounded bad so I've spent the last hour and a half searching for him. I promise if he's not at the beach I'll come home to put Brandon to bed and we can rearrange the meeting with the vicar for next week." Colby said as he flicked the indicator down and waited for the lights to change to green.

"Please stop crying," Liz pleaded with their new-born son. He was six months old and had just started teething, which meant many a sleepless night for Liz and Colby. "Dear," She said addressing Colby not their son, "Could you sing that song to him? You know he won't stop crying till you get home otherwise." She reasoned, twisting the knife in Colby's gut a little more. He often suspected that Liz was a little envious of Colby going off to work every morning work whilst she stayed home and looked after their son. The fact that their son would only sleep for Colby as well only twisted the knife deeper. He wouldn't say that they were hard times at the moment, just that they were all going through an adjustment period.

"Ok, hold the phone up to his ear." Colby conceded, hearing the unshed tears in Liz's voice. She really was over-tired. Colby thought mentally to himself to get their daughter Hannah to babysit for a night soon so he could take Liz to the shooting range. She'd really appreciate that. After all, she was a brilliant mother and had had no trouble with their daughter Hannah when she was first born fifteen years ago but then Hannah had hardly cried, not like Brandon. He had a set of lungs on him and he certainly chose to use them. Just thinking about how they had nearly lost him, however, made Colby's heart skip a beat and his chest tighten. Sometimes he needed his son to wail all night just for the reassurance that he was still alive in the other room.

As soon as he heard his son's wails loudly over the hands free speakers, Colby cleared his throat and began to sing, "Baby mine, don't you cry. Baby mine, dry your eyes. Rest your head close to my heart, never to part, baby of mine." If the boys at work could hear him now, Colby would never have lived it down. It was a song his own mother had sung often to him as a child and when their son was lying in an incubator because he was born prematurely, Colby had sat there praying that his son would live. The doctors had told them to talk to him, to let him know they were there but Colby didn't believe in that sort of thing, that was until he was left alone one afternoon and had sung to his tiny child and gotten a strong steady heartbeat in return. So despite the fact that he felt like a sissy, Colby sang on and smiled when he heard his healthy son yawn and begin to doze off, "If they knew sweet little you they'd end up loving you too. All those same people who scold you, what they'd give just for a chance to hold you-"

"Colby," Liz's warm grateful voice came back on the line, "He's asleep."

"Good," Colby smiled back even though she couldn't see him.

"I love you," She yawned down the phone line, "Come home soon."

"I will, as soon as I've checked out the beach," Colby reassured his tired wife.

"Ok then, bye," She replied ready to hang up.

"Oh and Liz," Colby rushed to stop her.

"Yes," She enquired politely, half rocking her son and half listening to their daughter.

"I love you too," Colby smiled as he imagined the blissful scene of domesticity that awaited him when he got home and made for the last parking spot at the Santa Monica pier, where he prayed to God he would find Dylan.

*Back at Don's Office*

"Hey Janie, you can go home now if you want. I'm going to be held up here for another couple hours yet, no sense in both of us being stuck here," Don told his secretary as he came out to make himself another cup of coffee-it felt like the hundredth one that day.

"If you're sure?" Janie asked uncertainly. She was tired and wanted to go home to her family but she didn't want to leave Don alone.

"I'm sure," Don smiled with false positivity, "Oh and Janie, thanks for today. You're doing a great job…keep it up."

Flushing with pleasure, his secretary practically bolted from the room with the relief that only came at the end of a long shift. Dropping the smile instantly, Don picked up the files from Janie's desk and made his way back to his own. The truth was that all of these could wait till the morning; he just didn't want to go home. He was supposed to be moving out with Dylan, but with Dylan still ignoring Don's calls and texts, Don didn't know what to do.

Robin would be home about now and if Don knew Robin at all he knew that she would be cooking dinner right about now, shoes kicked off and wine glass in hand. The only time she ever relaxed was at home and even then not by much. The question that strangely kept plaguing him, however, was whether or not she was alone. He knew he had given Harvey his blessing to move on with her, but a small part of Don wanted to go home and make love to his wife. It was a desire that he hadn't felt in a long time and had it not been for Amanda earlier, he probably wouldn't be feeling now…

…_and what of Amanda?_ Don thought curiously. She was bright and bubbly, loud in colour and a walking fashion disaster, and yet for some reason Don wanted to pull her close and tangle his long slender fingers in her long auburn curls, whilst leaving a trail of kisses along her collar bone. She both repelled and aroused him and Don could feel that arousal now, pushing against the seams of his jeans. Uncrossing his legs to ease the pain, Don reminded himself that she was just yet another reminder, another link to a world that didn't exist to him anymore. He didn't want to think about it nor be a part of it anymore.

_Why won't people just leave me alone? Why must they push the past upon me and expect me to be grateful? _Don winged to himself sorrowfully. He hated that Nick was replacing Charlie. More than that he hated that Charlie was dead and needed replacing. Most of all though, he hated that the replacement Nick had found could stir such longing within him…

The problem was Don didn't want to complicate his life any more than coming to work and taking down a bad guy or two. As surprising and as painful as his arousal was, Don didn't need it-as proven by his and Robin's lack of a sex life. He just didn't want to think about any of it any more. Not his divorce with Robin, or the distracting maths consultant or his angry nephew. He wanted to be free of all responsibilities but for those that he faced at work, which was just another reason to avoid the home that had never really felt like his to begin with. Besides he didn't feel like going home to the possibility of having a hair dryer, or whatever it was angry women throw, being thrown at his head. So instead Don played the coward and hid in his office where there were no angry soon to be ex-wives or resentful nephews to bother him.

Subconsciously, Don reached down and opened the bottom drawer in his desk. His bottle of whiskey was safely nestled under a false bottom that had come with the desk. It made for a nice little hiding spot, not that he had anything to hide… Getting the bottle out, Don uncapped it and poured a healthy measure into his coffee and took a long sip. Instantly his shaking hands stopped at the relief of the familiar liquid finally flowing through his veins. He'd thought his secretary would never leave.

The first thing he had wanted to do all afternoon was to come back here and take a long pull from the bottle. Taking that much needed pull now Don sighed with pleasure as the warmth of the whisky blurred out the edges of Don's cold and lonely office. _"Right…after all, why would the drunk believe the junkie?" _Dylan's words came crashing back to Don as he closed his eyes in tiredness. "I'm not a drunk," Don griped back at his empty office. _"Well if the bottle fits," _Dylan's sharp reply whispered back at Don resentfully, mocking him even now.

Sitting up straight, Don glared back at the bottle that usually soothed his restless soul and wondered when it too had turned against him. _"Why don't you just go back to work and forget I exist! After all it's what your good at!"_ Dylan's quiet angry voice filled his office, speaking of years of hurt and anger. "I'm sorry," Don whispered back, "I'm just so sorry…"

Standing up hastily, Don grabbed his keys, needing to be anywhere but here. However, the keys felt heavy in his large grasp and in his drunken haze, Don swore he could see Dylan's disapproving cock of an eyebrow glaring at him in the soft lighted reflections in the windows. "DAMN IT!" Don screamed satisfyingly, "ARGHH!" It felt so good to scream. Letting what alcohol he did consume fuel him, Don curled backwards and threw his keys at the traitorous window as if he was pitching a baseball and was rewarded with a small crack in the perfect glass wall…

*Back at the Santa Monica Pier*

Staring at the setting sun, Colby watched as the gold and pink skyline silhouetted perfectly against the many sail boats that were still out to sea. So far there was no sign of Dylan and a prickle of fear travelled down Colby's spine. This wasn't his first clean-up of one of Don and Dylan fights and he was worried that his good friend and boss may have pushed Dylan too far this time.

Making sure to remove his trainers before steeping out onto the perfect white sand, Colby started the long trek up the beach, stopping and checking every person still dotted along the coast line for any sign of him. Dylan, however, was nowhere to be seen.

Unsure what to do next, Colby stopped by a group of surfers nearby and asked after Dylan. "Yeah I know D, he got beat up pretty bad out there, he's sitting this one out under the pier," a stereotypical beach bum told Colby as he flicked his golden locks out of his sea blue eyes and leaned against his surf board. Tipping the guy, Colby made his way back up towards the pier, where the soft hum of machines and people could still be heard. It was still pretty quiet for the pier, at night the whole thing would light up and music would blast its way along the beach for all the bonfire parties. It was a cop's nightmare, all that underage drinking and drugs…it ruined the good old fashioned fun of the pier.

"I wondered when you'd show up," Dylan said from the shadows, his face neutral and tone even. There was also the faintest orange glow where Dylan's head should be.

"I thought you'd given up smoking," Colby replied as he moved further under the pier and sat down roughly on the sand next to Dylan and his surfboard.

"I had, needs must and all that…it's been one of those days," Dylan told Colby, without turning his face from the sea.

"What happened?" Colby asked, dreading the answer.

"I did."

It surprised Colby to hear Dylan say it and scared him a little also. Dylan usually shouted, ranted and paced around a bit, all the while cursing his uncle but this new quite Dylan…this scared Colby, this meant it was bad. "What did you do?" He asked eventually when he could find his voice.

"I got expelled," Dylan replied and flicked away some ash whilst he waited for Colby to react to the news.

"You what? You…you idiot!" Colby fumed, half angry and half exasperated.

"Don't worry. I was innocent…well partly. Don got Ms Holland to give me a suspension instead. So I get to keep going to that shitty school," Dylan growled impatiently.

"What did you do?" Colby repeated himself, sometimes it was the only way to get through to Dylan.

"Drinking and fighting on school property," Dylan said angrily as he flicked away the butt of his cigarette.

"And were you?" Colby said in his best reasonable dad voice.

"What do you think?" Dylan practically screamed with teenage indignation.

"I think that the alcohol wasn't yours because with your uncles drinking habit you would never touch the stuff…I also think that if provoked then you would fight with someone. Who was it this time? Alec? John? Chris? Was the alcohol theirs?" Colby enquired politely, barely keeping a lid on his temper. It wouldn't do any good to shout at Dylan, however angry he was.

"I found them behind the bike racks," Dylan told Colby as he picked up a stick and started drawing circles in the sand.

"What were you doing behind the bike racks?" Colby feigned patience.

"Went for a smoke," Dylan mumbled before continuing, "Alec was bragging that he'd managed to score from his dad's liquor cabinet and sure enough they were trying to get this rookie to do a shot of absinth. The rookie was trying to get out of it and that's when he spotted me, the others followed his eye line and then Alec started on me. He was insulting dad…so I knocked him down…he fractured his wrist…"

Colby noticed the slightest curl of Dylan's lips at the memory. Alec and his gang had made Dylan's life miserable for the longest time and even Colby was glad that the kid had been taught a lesson…Colby just wished that Dylan hadn't done the teaching and that for once, just once, he would have walked away, for his sake. "What about your face?" Colby asked calmly as his eyes adjusted to the dark and he finally took note of the fat lip and cut up eyebrow.

"Alec gave me the lip and…I fell down on my board. It was a big wave…I slipped…these things happen," Dylan replied, taking out another cigarette and attempted to light it with his shivering hands. Dylan was only wearing a wet suit pulled down around his waist. His toned chest and hair were dripping wet. _If he wasn't careful he'll catch a cold_, the father in Colby thought worriedly.

"Come on," Colby got up and offered a hand to Dylan, "You're coming back to mine for dinner, but no smoking in the house."

"Thanks," Dylan mumbled appreciatively, as he let Colby yank him up off his ass and began following Colby back up to the car park and his jeep.

"Oh, and Dylan…about Don…you know that I'll be dropping you back their after dinner…right?"

"Right," Dylan slapped Colby's back as he passed him, just grateful that Colby couldn't see his tortured gaze, "Don't worry I worked all that out on the waves."

"Good," Colby said, grabbing Dylan's surf board and swung it under his arm. He was the one who had taught Dylan to surf in the first place, and he was a pretty good surfer too. Too good to be wiped out by the gently rocking waves that were more like child's play to a surfer of Dylan's calibre. No, if Dylan was lying about the cut to his forehead then Don was behind it.

It explained Don's cryptic message and he was the only person that Dylan would cover for. Sometimes it annoyed Colby how loyal Dylan was to Don in the face of all the abuse and flack he'd had to carry on his small shoulders over the years. Alan had shielded Dylan from it somewhat over the years, but now he's dead…Don was out of control and Dylan wasn't far behind. Colby just hoped for both their sakes that they could reach some sort of equilibrium…and soon.


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

*The Next Morning,

Robin's Condo*

"It's just turned seven o'clock, I'm Ryan Seacrest and you're listening to KIIS FM in the morning, for those of you just joining the show hello and welcome. I've been asking you to call in this morning with your weather inspired song requests and we've had a few classic suggestions already like, The Weather Girls 'It's Raining Men', Gene Kelly 'Singing in the Rain' and Credence Clearwater Revival 'Have You Ever Seen the Rain?' But I've decided to play Heather Patrick's inspired suggestion of 'Love is All Around' by Wet Wet Wet. Thank you Heather I hope this brightens up your morning…"

Opening her eyes, not rested at all, Robin sighed with bitter disappointment as the memory of her and Don in his office came crashing back to her. _"I-want-a-divorce," _Don had told her evenly, annunciating each word clearly as if she was retarded. There was an edge of steel in his voice that she had only ever heard him use once before, in the weeks after his brother's murder.

Reaching over, Robin made to switch off Don's clock radio, "Love is all around, bah!" She cursed its mocking steely glint as she wacked the off button. What she wouldn't give to smash the infernal machine! However, as satisfying as it may be, it wasn't her style at all. After all she was supposed to be the 'ice bitch', cool, collected…detached-or so some people claimed. What they didn't know, the side she rarely showed the world, was that she could be kind, patient and fiercely loyal-it was what had attracted Don to her in the first place, or so _he _claimed.

Her condo was eerily silent with the radio off. Usually Dylan would be crashing around in the kitchen about now, he too had not come home last night and she could only assume that it was because they had moved into their new apartment last night. _Maybe Don came by whilst I was still at work, _Robin reasoned with her aching heart, letting it know that she wouldn't be calling round all the hospitals just yet.

Because that was the thing, whilst she didn't feel the need to openly show emotion all of the time, if you cut her did she still not bleed? Well she does and Don's words had cut her deeper than any knife. It was like he had carved into her chest and hollowed it out like a jack-o-lantern, except there was no light inside her chest. No, Don had made it very clear that he did not love her anymore and Robin refused to give him the satisfaction of her tears, after all had it not been her mother who had taken her daughter to one side, at such a tender age, and told her 'honey, no man will ever be worth your tears'.

_No man is, _she thought stubbornly, _except for Don. _It was certainly a ridiculous notion to Robin to feel the need to actually defend her love for her husband. She may not say it all the time but surely he knew…besides she had done more than enough crying last night, now was the time to man up and move on…except, Robin didn't know how. She had spent seventeen years with Don, only seven of which she could genuinely call happy.

It was as if she had been at war most of her married life. After Charlie and Amita died it was all about surviving, she'd tried to broker peace but Don seemed determined to kill himself, either through starvation or alcohol poisoning, it was like he didn't care which. Their life had quickly become a battlefield. Tensions ran high and a line had been drawn on their lives, that it seemed would never be eradicated. Robin was just scared that Don had drifted so far over the line that it was nothing more than a spec on the horizon to him now and the problem that Robin had always faced was deciding when to fight back and when to surrender. Unfortunately Robin had surrendered too soon. True he had wanted space and she'd given him just that, it just occurred to Robin as she cried herself to sleep alone most nights that perhaps she had given him _too much_ space.

What Don seemed to forget was that they had all lost people that day, ok, for Robin they weren't blood relatives but they were still her family too and it hurt her that Don hadn't been able to see how badly she had been grieving too, after all wasn't he supposed to know her better than anyone else? Not that it would have mattered to Don back then. It was as if he was in some competition to be the best at grieving. So what that Alan had lost a son, Dylan a father…Don had lost a brother and that seemed to trump it all. Don may have resented her moving on so fast, but she resented his inability to see others pain. All they had wanted was to move on and Don just wouldn't/couldn't let them. That was why her marriage had failed, not that Don would ever see it that way…but Robin and everyone else around him knew the truth.

Sighing sadly, Robin rolled over and stared at his clock radio. It was seven twenty-five and if she didn't get out of bed now she was going to be late for work. Not that she wanted to go in this morning. Harvey would be there asking why she hadn't let him come over yesterday and then there was her appointment with Don to start going over the case and whilst he would be too polite to say so, she'd know from his tone and expression that if Nick wasn't putting him up to it, then he'd rather be anywhere else in the world that she and any evidence of her betrayal wasn't. She just knew that if she faced Don now, then she wouldn't be able to maintain her casual facade of boredom and to cry in front of Don right now was the worst thing she could think of. She didn't want to be the pathetic snivelling mess that people expected her to be, she was stronger than that…and whilst she loved him and could think of nothing better than him coming home to her, wrapping his arms around her and kissing the pain away, she knew in her bruised heart that it would never happen.

She knew Don too well, he was stubborn and even if she wanted to…she couldn't go back either. Whilst she didn't love Harvey in the slightest, she had to admit that her brief affair had revealed all the cracks in her tentative marriage, cracks that had now become creators that she could no longer ignore. She had always been the first one in the past to admit that her life with Don wasn't perfect, but no one knew that it had gotten so bad that some days they could wake up and go to bed and not see nor speak to each other all day…she had only put up with it because most nights he'd be there, snuggled up behind her.

It was the only time that he would touch her anymore and she had wanted to savour every brief minute as their bodies fitted together like two missing jigsaw pieces that had just found one another again. You would think then, why risk what little he did give her for a few wild nights with Harvey Drake. Robin couldn't answer that. Who could say how it was possible to love someone so much that your body ached for their very touch and yet cave to the attentions of another man. All she knew was that until Harvey had come along, it had been a long time since Don had made her feel like a woman. Like someone who was worthy of love. Don didn't even hold her hand anymore…it was no way to live and now that he'd asked for a divorce…she knew she could never go back.

No, it was time for Robin to face the hard reality that her husband had died with his brother that day. She didn't know this broken stranger that had replaced him and she certainly didn't love him. The divorce was just the final confirmation that he wasn't coming back to her and the last punch that she would let that man give her breaking heart.

Ignoring her mother's sage advice, Robin curled up into the foetal position and cried loud, heavy tears that grew like a rumble of thunder in her throat till they were full blown hiccupping sobs of misery. She'd call the office later and make her excuses, she was just thankful that she wouldn't be needed in court this morning. The thought of facing everyone made her toes curl with misery and now that she would be facing the world alone from now on, she couldn't afford to let them see that the 'ice bitch' was slowly melting.

*The Same Morning,

Colby and Liz's Bungalow*

Slowly coming to, Liz heard the heavy rain battering the windows long before her brain could fully process what her sleep filled eyes were seeing. "Colby?" She asked confused as she looked at the time on her small alarm clock, knowing that it must be a mistake.

"Yeah?" He asked back, half asleep as he rolled over to look at his wife.

"It's seven thirty," She stated disbelievingly, it had been a long six months since she had last slept all night long, Brandon usually had her up at two and then again at four and then again at six-by which point she usually gave up on sleep and started watching early morning TV with Brandon. "Did you look after Brandon last night?" She smiled lovingly at her husband. Usually, because he had to work, Liz attended to Brandon's crying. She was starting to think a good night's sleep didn't exist anymore and then Colby did this for her…he was clearly paying more attention on the phone last night than she had realised. A good night's sleep was exactly what the doctor had ordered and she loved her husband more for recognising that.

"No dear," He yawned, his desire to still be asleep, even though they had both slept through their alarms and longer than either had for six months. "Why?" He asked suddenly, sleep forgotten. Sitting up straight he looked at Liz alarmed, "Didn't you honey?"

"No…" Her voice began to tremble as they both threw off the covers in their haste to get to their son's crib. Brandon had been born prematurely with breathing difficulties because his lungs were a little underdeveloped, and upon hearing their child's first raspy breaths before falling into cardiac arrest, Colby had thought his own heart would crack. Standing, holing his wife's cold hand as she began to haemorrhage on the table…Colby had honestly thought he'd lost them both.

Mercifully they had both come out of it ok. Colby had seen what grief had done to Don and he hadn't wanted to follow his friend down that path. Brandon however, still had trouble some nights, which made him an extra prickly child for crying during the night. The way Colby saw it though was that tears equalled life, silence equalled…well it didn't bear thinking about. So without hesitation, Colby ran straight from their bedroom to the nursery, only to be rewarded with an empty crib.

Feeling a moment of relief flutter through his chest, Colby felt his heart constrict once more with fear at the realisation of what an empty crib and open window could mean. Liz, only two seconds behind her husband gasped at the empty crib, tears starting to well up in her eyes as she ran straight out of the room again, looking for her son. "Brandon!" She called, not too loudly as her horse throat was too dry.

"Liz, in here," Colby called his wife in to the living room, the second place he'd thought to look after his daughter's room, where thankfully she slept on, oblivious of the tension running through her parent's minds.

When Liz finally entered the room she couldn't help the 'thank God' that erupted from her soft lips. Dylan was sitting on the couch, Brandon resting peacefully on his shoulder, whilst the television flickered indifferently from the corner. Putting his arm around his wife and drawing her close, the two stood in the door way and watched the two boys sleep in perfect harmony, their son's weak chest rhythmically matching Dylan's beat for beat.

"Come on," Colby told Liz as he pulled her away from the scene and into the kitchen to start getting ready for work and to let the pair keep on sleeping undisturbed. It was rare treat for their son to rest so peacefully and Colby wanted to take advantage of every second. Besides, being suspended it wasn't like Dylan had to be up soon for school. Their daughter on the other hand was cutting it a bit fine. Deciding, however, to give her the extra few minutes of sleep and himself a few more minutes alone with his wife, Colby turned the kettle on before pulling Liz into a tight embrace and kissing her first softly and then more intensely as her body melted into his.

"What was that for?" She asked breathily when he eventually released her.

"I just want to show you again how much I love you," Colby whispered seductively in her ear as he grabbed her hand in his and pulled her in for a slow dance.

"Col," She blushed prettily as he twirled her around the kitchen table, "There's no music!"

"My bad," Colby smiled mischievously as he began to hum Frank Sinatra's 'Strangers in the Night'-Liz's favourite song and the one that they had danced to first at their wedding.

"Oh Col," She whispered happily as she rested her head on his shoulder. She loved that he could still be so spontaneous and romantic after fifteen years of marriage and at seven thirty in the morning too! Lifting her chin, Colby leaned down once more as his lips searched and found hers.

"Gross," Their sleepy teenage daughter said disgustedly as she rubbed at her tired eyes.

"Morning sweetheart," Liz replied after giving her husband one last quick peck on the cheek. "Sleep well?"

"No," She replied grumpily, she'd had a cold the last few days and last night Liz had deemed her daughter fit enough to return to school.

"What's wrong honey?" Colby frowned concerned as he held the back of his hand to her forehead.

"It's Dylan," She hesitated, unsure whether to go on.

"What about Dylan?" Liz asked as she attended to the toast.

"Emma said he got suspended yesterday for breaking the quarterback's arm and then…" After another small pause, Hannah decided to just get it over and done with. "And then…she said that it was going around school that he got into _another _fight with an old man that resembles _uncle Don_."

"I'm gonna kill him," Colby hissed angrily. He'd suspected that Don was somehow responsible for half of Dylan's injuries last night but had given Don the benefit of the doubt out of some kind of misplaced loyalty.

"Dear," Liz said reasonably as she placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and squeezed it as if to say 'not in front of our daughter'.

"Mum, is Dylan in trouble?" Hannah asked concernedly, she thought of Dylan as an older brother and Don an uncle, that the two could be at odds distressed her greatly.

"In school maybe…at home…well things are a bit _rocky…_but he's going to be fine," Liz lied and the concern must have shown on her face because Hannah looked shaken.

"Your uncle Don's asked your aunt Robin for a divorce, it's bound to be a rough…transition," Colby told his distressed daughter but his words did little to soothe her.

"What if you asked him to live with us for a while?" Hannah asked the question that had been plaguing both Colby and Liz's minds since they had first clocked Dylan's injuries, his gaze defiant, just daring them to say something.

"That's generous sweetie, but…I don't know if Dylan will go for it…" Liz told her daughter after gazing at her husband for direction.

"Why?" She asked stubbornly.

"Because he's too proud," Liz told her daughter sagely, "I don't think Dylan would appreciate our calling attention to his uncle's behaviour…or to admit vulnerability."

"But you will ask him anyway? Just in case?" Hannah niggled away at her parents consciences.

"Of course I will," Liz smiled forcefully as Colby finished his toast and got up ready to leave.

"Finish up and I'll drive you to school," Colby told his daughter who had just finished her toast. Soon it would be just Liz and Dylan and she dreaded that conversation because she was afraid of saying the wrong thing. Deciding to get on with the washing up so as to delay the inevitable, Liz just smiled and waved goodbye to the pair as they headed to their respective rooms.

Getting dressed, and in Colby's case holstered up, the pair prepared themselves for the day ahead. For Hannah that meant checking the latest twitter feeds and for Colby it meant popping his head into the living room briefly to re-witness his surrogate nephew and son sleeping together on the couch. Whipping his iPhone out of his jeans pocket, Colby took a quick picture to embarrass Dylan with later and to remember the brief historic moment of Dylan letting his shields down with someone, even if that someone was only six months old.

Dylan liked to pretend he was tough but he'd always had a weak spot for Brandon, whom he thought fondly of as the brother he'd never gotten to have. With all the problems and suspensions over the years, Colby had started to think that the sweet innocent child in Dylan was lost forever. Perhaps this was a good sign of things to come, or so Colby hoped with all his heart. If anyone needed a break it was Dylan.

He also hoped that Dylan would take their offer to stay with them for a while. His current situation clearly wasn't working out and Colby felt a strong debt of protectiveness towards Dylan. He had regarded Charlie as a brother and he just hoped that wherever Charlie and Amita were now they could rest easy knowing someone was keeping an eye on their son for them. Something Don should have been doing more of, and on the thought of Don, Colby frowned deeply as he made his way to the office, Don's in particular, where he planned to give his friend a massive kick up the ass.

*The Same Morning,

Don's Office*

Humming to herself as she stepped off the lift, Janie smiled at the plethora of familiar faces that worked in Don's department, many of whom were in earlier than usual, which for someone who usually arrived first, surprised her. It was five to eight and the office was already alive with the steady hum of conversation and typing, not even the bad weather could dampen their spirits today. From what Janie could gather there was a major bust scheduled for later in the day and Janie could feel everyone's excitement like a slither of electricity to the spine. The man they were chasing was a massive international grifter who had eluded them twice already, and Don was adamant that he would not escape again. Janie just wished she could have his confidence.

Reaching the small outer office to Don's larger one, Janie slung Don's dry cleaning over the arm of the couch, before shaking off her large anorak and delicately placing it on the small radiator behind her desk. There was a lot for Janie to do this morning and she was keen to get stuck in before Don arrived. She was yet to meet his wrath and she was keen to keep it that way. Besides her basic need for job security, she had also begun to settle in quite nicely and actually liked the people, unlike at her last job.

Bending over, Janie reached under her desk to switch on her desktop computer and spotted a small crack of light from under Don's office door. He didn't usually like her going into his office when he wasn't there, but noticing that the door was also slightly ajar, Janie felt obligated to go and check it out. She didn't know what she'd been expecting but it wasn't this.

Don was lying passed out on the couch cradling an empty bottle of whisky against his chest. His tie from yesterday lay scrunched and forgotten on the office floor amongst a mess of towering folders that were stacked precariously high. It was how Don organised, however, this morning his office looked anything but organised. Moving over to her unconscious boss, Janie sighed pityingly as Don grunted in his sleep and rolled over, his outstretched arm hitting the ground with a soft thwack.

Though it was none of her business and Janie made it a habit to avoid gossip wherever her bosses' were concerned, she couldn't help but over hear the odd rumour or two flying around the office about Don. They were mostly about the other agents' concern for Don but there was the odd one that spoke to a dark past that was better off left there. Besides, never one to pry, Janie preferred to keep her life separate and their relationship professional. So when his wife burst from the office yesterday balling her little eyes out, Janie looked the other way and continued with her work. Her discretion was one of the few qualities that her previous bosses' had liked the most…

…And so without asking questions, Janie started tiding up Don's office, starting with files and ending with the desk. All the while, Don slept on his body twitching in distress every now and again from the dark, restless monsters that flittered across his eyelids whilst he slept. It was quite distressing to witness and all of a sudden a mix of pity and protectiveness flooded Janie's petite body. Her eldest son was Don's age and she saw so much of him in Don that she felt the first stirrings of unprofessionalism.

Moving over to his side, she perched next to him on the soft overstuffed couch and pressed a warm soothing hand to his damp forehead. Whatever he was dreaming about it had him sweating and moaning badly. "Shhh," she whispered comfortingly in his ear as she smoothed out the hair that had matted itself to his forehead.

"Mum…?" Don sleep sighed as he rolled over, his face pressing into the palm of her hand.

"It's ok Don, sleep well now," She told him as she had told her son on many a bad night.

"Charlie," He mumbled incoherently, "Got to get to Charlie."

"He's safe dear," She said as she took his hand in hers and gave it a soft squeeze, "You're both safe."

Smiling in his sleep, Don dropped the bottle on his office floor with a soft thump. Picking it up, Janie looked at the root of all Don's problems and sighed with angry disappointment. She had such great respect for Don but drinking at the office…it didn't matter that he was off duty. He shouldn't have had the bottle here to begin with. Drunk in your office was how it had started for her late husband and she hated to think that Don was walking down that same destructive path.

Unsure what to do with the empty bottle Janie got up and moved back to her own desk, making sure not to bang the door on her way out. Sitting at her desk, Janie drummed her fingers on the desk top in thought. Eventually she decided to hide the bottle inside her handbag until she could dispose of it later on that evening in the bottle bank round the corner from her house. She had only just finished stuffing it inside, when the AD walked inside the room.

"Hello…Janie," Nick smiled with flawless white teeth.

"Morning sir, how can I help you?" She asked politely, keeping her tone neutral as she returned his greeting,

"I'm looking for Don. I wanted to discuss a few details from our meeting yesterday. Is he in?" Cocking his head to one side, Nick waited for Don's, in his opinion, slightly inept secretary to answer him.

"No sir, I'm afraid he hasn't arrived yet. Can I leave him a message for you when he does?" Janie smiled sweetly, coughing once to cover up the sound of Don mumbling loudly in his sleep.

"No, that's quite alright," He eyed her strangely, "Just tell him to pop into my office at some point today," And bobbing his head goodbye, Nick swanned out of the office as gracefully as he'd first arrived.

"No problem sir," She said to herself as she jotted the note down in Don's day planner. Noticing that it was now eight fifteen, Janie decided to get some coffee going. It was time to wake Don up, which was not something she was looking forward to doing and fortunately for her, she didn't have to. Smelling to coffee, Don soon shook himself awake and stumbled through from his office in search of a caffeine fix. It had not been a good night's sleep…

"Hi," Don grumbled when he finally noticed his secretary.

"Good morning sir," she replied pleasantly, trying hard not to stare. His hair was sticking up slightly at the back and his jaw was covered with stubble. "I got your dry cleaning for you," She told him as she raised an arched eyebrow at his crumpled, half open, shirt from the day before. If she wasn't mistaken there was a mixture of both blood and whiskey stains mixed with dirt, hardly the most suitable look for an SAIC.

Nodding his approval, Don grabbed his dry cleaning in one hand and his coffee in the other and without another word, went back to his office, shutting the door firmly behind him. She knew that he was embarrassed, his pride probably bruised, but Janie really hoped that Don got his act together and soon. She knew from personal experience what a bereavement could do to your soul and she just hoped that Don could find some kind of peace that didn't come at the bottom of a bottle.

Deciding it was time to butt out again. Janie put on her best professional secretarial face and drew a line under the morning. She had never seen Don with alcohol in the office before and one bottle did not an alcoholic make. Not that it was any of her business if it did. So long as Don didn't drink on duty, Janie had no qualms and would ask no questions. She did, however, for her conscience's sake; resolve to keep an eye on her boss over the coming weeks.

Grabbing the first file from the stack on her desk, Janie began typing up Don's notes-not an easy task with his messy hand writing. Sighing resignedly, Janie began her morning long task or ordering Don's life, which was no easy feat.

*Same Morning,

Colby and Liz's Bungalow*

_Floating effortlessly like driftwood through an endless black sea, Dylan sighed contentedly in his sleep. He couldn't remember the last time he had slept so well. It was the darkness; he felt a strong sense of solitude amongst the vast expanse of nothingness. It was the only time he was free from the nightmarish images that had plagued in his childhood and had since returned. Lying back, Dylan let the blackness ebb away at any lingering doubts he had as it lapped soothingly at his sides, casting him further and further out to sea. A long time passed as his consciousness bobbed freely, relaxing in the serenity of his mind. _

_Slowly, subtly at first, the familiar blackness began to melt away and after what felt like an eternity of endless drifting, Dylan felt his whole body lurch as two strong arms dragged him backwards, practically wrenching is own arms out of their sockets. "NOOOOO!" A child screamed loudly, voice thick with tears as heat, such overwhelming heat, scorched his plump little cheeks. _

_Half mesmerised, half horrified, Dylan watched on as a giant ball of fire scorched the ground beneath his bare toes whilst towering above him, the flames twisted into smoke that reached as high as houses. The sky was a crimson mass, which to his little eyes looked and felt like hell on earth. He didn't know what constricted his lungs more, the lack of oxygen or those treacherous arms that prevented him from joining his parents in the flames, and he was not alone, for he could feel someone else shoving through the crowd behind him, struggling to get past and as always, _Dylan awoke to the man's screams- such horrific unnatural screams that spoke of death, loss and such overwhelming grief…the screams of a broken man…

Startled awake, Dylan's whole body felt like it was on fire and for a brief sleep addled moment, he thought that the flames might have finally caught up with him. Hands shaking, Dylan cradled Bandon to his heaving chest and did his best to soothe the confused child, who until that point had be dreaming peacefully. Dylan hadn't even realised that he had been crying until Brandon reached up with one small fist and clumsily whipped them away.

Standing up, Dylan walked Brandon back to his nursery, where he laid him down in the crib and twisted the mobile to entertain him. Dylan was jealous of Brandon's innocence and whilst he could still see the towering inferno behind his eyelids, Dylan just wanted to be alone. Reaching for his leather jacket, Dylan pulled out the cigarettes and put one in his mouth but waited till he was on the front porch to light it up. That first intake of nicotine did more to soothe his jangled nerves than words or a hug ever could have.

Closing his eyes once more, Dylan was relieved to see the nightmare fading from his mind. He didn't know why this scene plagued his dreams, as far as he was aware he had never been trapped in a fire and try as he might, he could think of no other explanation for his irrational fear of fire… He'd asked his uncle about it once, which was a huge mistake. Don had gotten a weird look in his eyes, right before walking out of the house in a fit of rage.

It was back in the weeks following his father and mother's deaths. Dylan didn't remember much from that time but he did remember the angst when Don hadn't come back for a whole week, one of the longest of Dylan's life, he had started to fear that his uncle might never comeback. It was only out of sheer relief when his uncle _had_ comeback that Dylan had vowed never to speak of his nightmares again. It was a hard vow to keep considering his nightmares were getting stronger and more frequent.

Taking another long drag, Dylan pulled his jacket tighter around him. It was a cold, wet miserable day but Dylan liked it that way. He loved the rain. He loved that feeling of being warm and snug inside while the rain danced outside and the sound it created against the window pane…it was as close to heaven as Dylan got. He didn't have many memories of his parents, but he did have one about a rainy day they had spent as a family…

Family, the word felt foreign to him now. Sure he still had Don, but they didn't exactly act like family, had Don's actions not proved that yesterday when he had flung his nephew against a car? Holding his hand to his bruised rib, Dylan tried hard to push the memory aside. In truth, he had already forgiven his uncle. It's not like Dylan hadn't provoked him. Besides, if his suspicions of Don drinking again were true, then Don would need his nephew in the coming weeks and though Dylan hated himself for his weakness, he refused to let his uncle drink himself into an early grave.

How long he sat alone on Liz and Colby's small porch steps he didn't know. Time was irrelevant to him right now. With no school to go to and no home, Dylan had nothing but the clothes on his back and his jeep out front. _Pathetic,_ he thought to himself as he stubbed out his third cigarette and lit up his fourth, stopping only briefly to wave at the twitching curtains of Colby's neighbours.

Hearing the door open behind him, Dylan saw Liz sit down on the small porch swing out of the corner of his eye. She was dressed in a long t-shirt that was practically a dress on her and black leggings that covered her long slender legs that she folded under her now. Opening up the large blanket that she had around her, Liz gestured for him to join her on the swing. Wanting to be cold, just for the sensation of feeling something…anything, Dylan refused her invitation.

As the silence stretched out between them, it became obvious to Dylan that Liz was growing uncomfortable. "You should go back inside," He told her as he caught her checking the clock on the small baby monitor that she had brought out with her.

"I'm ok," she lied as she smothered another shiver. "I thought you'd quit smoking," She stated as she watched him take another long puff.

She looked concerned and Dylan felt ashamed that he wasn't being a better guest, "I did," He told her as he shook the ash from the end, "but then needs must."

"Like?" She asked again, not willing to give up the conversation now that she'd finally got him talking.

"It's nothing," Dylan replied, not willing to mention his dreams and his tone suggesting that the matter was closed.

"Dylan-"

"No!" He cut her off, his head whipping around to face her so hard that his neck twisted awkwardly in pain. "I don't want to talk about it, ok?" He softened his tone slightly at her surprise.

"Just like you don't want to talk about how you really cut your forehead?" She asked challengingly.

"I wiped out on my surf board, end of." He lied after hesitating momentarily from the sudden switch in conversation. Naturally Liz thought the two were related, how wrong she was.

"So the boy Hannah saw fighting with his uncle in the school parking lot yesterday, that wasn't you?" Liz arched one perfectly plucked eyebrow. Hands shaking with anger, Dylan refused to look Liz in the eye. "Oh Dylan," She sighed sadly as his head bowed in anger.

Getting up and sitting on the step beside him, Liz enveloped him in her arms and rocked him soothingly as she would Brandon. Whilst he refused to hug her back, he didn't pull away either. He was stuck between pride and such longing. Never having had a mother, Dylan wanted nothing more than to loose himself in her embrace. But it wasn't real, none of it. This wasn't his house, she wasn't his mother and most of all…it never could be.

He was toxic to be around. Slowly one by one he had driven his whole family away, he didn't want that for Liz or her family. Regretting it already, Dylan pulled back from her warm embrace and stood up. "I'd better get home and start packing," Dylan told her, not quite meeting her eye.

"Dylan, Colby and I…we want you to come stay-"

"No, sorry…but I… I can't" Dylan struggled to find the words to hide the fact that his heart was breaking inside. She was offering everything he had ever wanted…_but for how long?_ No, he was better off alone. The only person he could rely upon was himself, besides, if he did stay with Colby and Liz, who'd look after his uncle? No…it was best for everyone if he just went home...wherever home is.

"Ok," Liz said uneasily. She knew she wouldn't change his mind, but couldn't shake the feeling that she was doing the wrong thing.

"Bye," Dylan held up his hand briefly before reaching into his pocket and drawing out his car keys. It was a long journey back into the city, which was part of the reason for his staying the night in the first place; he just wished that he hadn't. Sure he hadn't had the courage face Don last night but walking away from Liz and everything she was offering… From the family he'd never known, the house he'd never had…a life he didn't deserve, it was worse than anything he knew…or was too proud to admit to.

"Bye," She whispered to herself as Dylan climbed inside his jeep and tore away from the small bungalow in a massive rush to get as far, far away as quickly possible. It was as if to Dylan, the more distance you put between yourself and your memories the more they would fade. Dylan had been running from such memories all his life and still not managed to erase them, you would think that he would have learnt his lesson by now…

Still, unable to face Don or Robin's empty condo, Dylan made a b-line straight for the beach, where he always did his best thinking, or in this case…forgetting.


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

*The Same Day -

Mid-Afternoon, Just Outside of Altadena*

Pulling up to the small intercom, Colby let his black Ford idle in the modest driveway, as he rolled down the window and shoved his sunglasses roughly on top of his broad head. The view before him was astounding. Built high up in the San Gabriel Mountains half an hour from Pasadena and amidst the Angeles National Forest, the building appeared to be carved from the rock face itself. All previous rain forgotten as the sun shone brightly over the purple rock face. It was almost as if heaven itself shone down upon the monastery and all its occupants.

Getting out of his car, Colby looked around him at the roughly carved slopes that opened up into forested valleys on all sides. There was a stillness to the air, an unexplainable peace that defied all belief to the city slickers that often frequented its rocky inclines. It was a silence that could only be achieved in the wilderness. Born and bred in the small village of Winchester Idaho, Colby breathed the warm fresh air into his lungs and felt the familiar stirrings of home.

He did not, however, visit the monastery out of pleasure. It took the small intercom's soft crackle as it came to life to remind him of this fact. "Hello?" A rough sounding male voice enquired politely.

Moving over to the small intercom, Colby leaned his mouth down to the small speaker before replying, "Hi, I'm looking for Larry Fleinhardt…"

"Brother Fleinhardt is in the gardens, come in whilst I inform him of your visit," And after a brief hesitation the voice added, "Please leave your gun in the car, you'll find no need for it here." Looking up at the small CCTV camera and then down at his weapon, Colby realised for the first time that the monastery was clearly more advanced than he had given it credit-like having electricity for starters.

Un-holstering his weapon, Colby climbed back into his Ford and placed the gun in the tiny glove compartment, which he locked before returning the keys to the ignition. Waiting for the tall gates to part first, Colby put the small car into drive and continued up the steep slope until he reached an open courtyard that was flanked by tall conifers on two sides. The monks here were clearly concerned about privacy. Having never been to the monastery before, Colby tried to recall what Larry had told him about it in the past. If memory served him correctly, the monastery also doubled as a retreat for the rich and powerful, it was LA after all.

Larry had also started life at the monastery as a guest at the retreat. It was not long after his return to earth. Having trouble readjusting to his earthbound life, Larry had retreated to the monastery claiming that he just needed time to find and contemplate silence. His visit had lasted practically a year but soon he had re-joined life at CalSci when he was given the opportunity to find the 'God particle'.

A man of science first and foremost, the choice to leave the monastery had not been a hard one. He did, however, miss the scent of pine and the kind of silence that could never be found in the city… After Charlie and Amita's deaths, however, Larry had retreated back to the monastery. He still visited them frequently over the years, mostly to look after Alan, who by that point had assumed custody of Dylan and wasn't on speaking terms with his only remaining son, Don.

Alan's death hit Larry harder than he thought it possibly could...apparently losing your best friends left a man full of anger and depression. As sole survivor of the think tank, Larry had soon come to the realisation that life at CalSci just wasn't the same anymore and never would be again. This time he moved back to the Monastery for good as a full time resident, no longer a teacher of physics but as a full time student of philosophy. The monks had helped him through a lot of his issues and his new found religion gave him a kind of stillness that his previous life had been seriously lacking.

Colby wasn't overly religious himself. He would describe himself more as agnostic bordering on the atheistic-he had watched too many good men die over the years to have faith in an almighty and benevolent being. For Larry, however, God was the only reality he could face. There was a quote from the famous philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche that Dylan had tattooed on his left peck. It read, 'Faith: not wanting to know what is true'. Larry's sudden unquestioning faith made Colby think of this quote now, as he leaned back against his car and waited for Larry to appear through a narrow passageway to his right. He feared that it was the opposite for Don, who had once restored his faith after the Crystal Hoyle case, only to have it so cruelly snatched away again by his recent bereavements.

"Colby," Larry smiled warmly as he greeted Colby. He was wearing a floral patterned shirt with shorts, both covered in mud. His hair had grown too, almost shoulder length, with a beard that covered his weak jaw. He looked so un-like Larry that Colby had to check that there was no one else in the small courtyard. "It's me Col," Larry told him as he placed two dirt stained hands on Colby's pressed shirt sleeves and enveloped him in a bear hug.

"Larry," Colby laughed disbelievingly, "If only your students could see you now!"

"Ah, yes…doubtless they wouldn't recognise me," Larry smiled again as he pulled back and gestured to a stone bench under a cherry tree.

It had been almost two years since Colby had last seen Larry and this new version definitely wasn't what he was expecting. Biting his lip, unsure if he'd made a mistake coming here, Colby looked hard at his changed friend. "Larry…" He faltered, unsure how to begin, or where to start.

"It's ok Colby…I know that this," He gestured to the beard and hair, "Wasn't what you were expecting…"

"Sorry, I was just thrown is all…how are you Larry?" Colby asked earnestly. He knew that Don kept some contact with Larry but Colby couldn't help but wonder if Don knew how changed their old friend and colleague was.

"I am good…life here…it's simple," Larry smiled happily. "I finally found that silence I so craved. At first I was just sad _all the time_…but this life…this place, it has restored my faith. I am at peace Colby. However, I can see that you are not. Why did you come here Colby, what has happened?"

"It's Don," Colby sighed unhappily, his shoulders slumping slightly. "He's…at least I think he's…"

"Drinking again?" Larry stated bluntly. When Colby only nodded, Larry cursed and stood up. He always paced when he needed to think. "Are you sure?" He rounded on Colby, not that he expected Colby to shout 'psych!'

"It's Dylan…Don, well we think Don…he has these bruises and cuts and I think they got into a fight last night. Dylan claims he wiped out on a surf but Hannah says people saw Dylan and Don fighting…but I know Don. He wouldn't act this way if he wasn't…"

"Drinking," Larry stated again before resuming his pacing. Colby stayed quite to let the news sink in for Larry. Colby hated coming here, it was like admitting defeat but Colby knew that Don would never listen to him. Larry on the other hand…well he was like a father to Don. "You know my presence would only make things worse for Don," Larry rounded on Colby once more, torn between running straight to Don and hanging back.

"I know…but I don't know who else to turn to. Dylan is standing by Don through some kind of misplaced loyalty…and Don…he's asked Robin for a divorce." Colby could see the anguish on Larry's face, it spoke mostly of regret. At Alan's funeral he had vowed to look after Don and Dylan, however, in the weeks following Alan's funeral Don had grown more and more hostile towards Larry, the sole surviving reminder of Don's lost family.

"You know what you ask?" Larry asked breathlessly, the uncertainty etched on his skin.

"I do…" Colby stood up, so close to Larry that he could read the fear in his friend's eyes.

"Ok…I know you would not ask lightly," Larry placed a reassuring hand on Colby's shoulder, though it was he that needed the reassurance. It was a long time since he had left the monastery and the uncertainty of his reception made him weary. "Let me gather some things and I will meet you back at your car in an hour." Larry smiled weakly. "And God help us all," He whispered once out of earshot of Colby.

*The Same Day,

Mid-Afternoon, the Santa Monica Pier*

Stepping out upon the soft white sand, Dylan wiggled his toes with satisfaction. He had always loved the beach. It was his sound board whenever he needed to think and right now Dylan had lots to think about. After all it wasn't everyday your drunken, alcoholic of an uncle threw you against a car, bruising two of your ribs and cutting your right eyebrow in the fall…

He felt lost and confused with no clear path obvious to him. On the one hand Dylan was frightened for his sickening uncle and on the other hand…he was afraid of his uncle, not that he'd admit it but the fight yesterday had thrown him, _literally_. His uncle had never stuck him before and Dylan didn't know how to react. It wasn't like Don had meant to hurt him, in truth Don had just thrown Dylan backwards; it was Dylan who had tripped causing his own injuries…or so he rationalised.

Why then was he here? With his tail between his legs like some beaten dog resentful of his owner? Dylan wanted nothing more than to be there to help his uncle, to make him see that alcohol was destroying him and had been for the past two years. But now? After this morning? How could Dylan be there for Don when he was too scared to even face him? Too scared to even listen to a simple voice message on his phone? For all of Dylan's muscles and new found strength, he was powerless against the one man he had always sought and never gotten approval from.

Angry at himself for his weakness, Dylan sat down clumsily on the warm sand. Resting his elbows on his jean clad knees; Dylan cast his gaze out to sea. For all the rain this morning it was proving to be a nice day-weather wise at least. For Dylan's quaint life was slowly unravelling. True he hated school, most days he didn't even bother showing up to classes. As a result his grades were failing. Despite all that, he'd never once thought Ms Holland might expel him. If it hadn't been for Don…well it was hard to feel grateful towards the person who had caused your ribs to make even the most basic of movements hurt. Even if he hadn't been suspended he wouldn't have been able to play hockey, which was the only reason he still made any effort at that school what so ever.

It wasn't like he was stupid either. He could run rings around most the jerks at school. Even their 'hard' groups weren't challenging enough and as much as Dylan longed to be challenged…what was the point? He wasn't Charlie Eppes smart and he never would be. Not now. Maybe if his father had been there to guide him…but that hadn't happened and Dylan hated looking back and asking 'what if?' He'd seen his uncle play that game too many times before…and loose. Dylan refused to follow him down that path. Although was the path he had chosen not as equally destructive?

Colby thought so and whilst Dylan was grateful to Colby for being the uncle Don was incapable of being…it wasn't the same. It was true what people said, blood counted for a lot. Don was Dylan's only surviving relative. His only family and to Dylan that was everything. He would never give up on his uncle because the alternative meant to be alone and Dylan could think of nothing more frightening.

Feeling the fear like a punch to his stomach that wouldn't go away, Dylan felt physically sick. He felt weak and he was angry at himself for that. After his grandfather's funeral he had vowed never to be that weak again…he'd thought burying his grandfather would help…he was wrong. Sitting on the beach as he had sat with his uncle then, Dylan couldn't stop the memories of his and Don's conversation, on top of the hill under the cherry blossoms, coming back to him. So many signs that he had been ignorant of. He was mad at Alan for sheltering him to Don's habit all those years. If he hadn't who knows he might have been able to stop Don relapsing... Dylan often wondered what their lives could have been like if Don had held it together. Hell he was the adult wasn't he? So why couldn't he act like it? Take responsibility for his family-or what was left of it anyway.

Shoulders slumping, Dylan picked up a fallen twig and started drawing patterns in the sand. His whole family had been carrying around so much pain and sadness for so long that Dylan often wondered if it had consumed them. He couldn't remember the last time he had properly smiled or laughed. He had only a handful of friends and the only time he found any peace was on the ice. It was like his favourite philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche said: 'when you gaze long into an abyss the abyss also gazes into you' and Dylan could feel that pain now, prickling away like pins and needles under his skin.

Shocked out of his reverie of misery, Dylan felt the pocket of his jeans vibrate. Pulling his mobile out, Dylan realized that it was his uncle…again. Surely the frequency of his calls meant that Don at least cared? Dylan just wasn't sure it was enough anymore. He'd blindly defended his uncle for so long that now, despite everything…no in spite of everything, Dylan wanted nothing more than to throw his mobile into the sea. To hear the satisfying plop as it broke the sea's surface. He'd seen it so often in film and TV respectively, but in real life…it was a stupid thing to do. So instead of satisfying his need for destruction, Dylan turned his phone off and shoved it back into his pants. He'd face Don when he was good and ready and not before…whenever that would be. Picking up his surf board, Dylan stripped off to his boxers and ran into the sea, letting the shock of the cold water wash over him, as it melted away all memories of the morning and previous day from his mind- for a few more measly hours that is.

*Meanwhile,

In Don's Office*

"Sorry Don, Robin didn't come in this morning. Something about having food poisoning," Robin's secretary told him sympathetically, her voice thick with the question 'shouldn't you already know that?' Not wanting to raise anymore suspicions, Don made his excuses and hung up. _So Robin hadn't come into work this morning_, Don wondered if she really had food poisoning or if this was about the divorce. They were supposed to be reviewing case notes right now. When she hadn't showed…his mind had jumped to all kinds of conclusions.

She had been very upset yesterday but missing work? That wasn't her style at all. Robin was always the consummate professional, Don couldn't remember the last day she'd had off work-except for that one morning he had convinced her to stay in his bed… _So is that it?_ Don pondered angrily, was she at home right now _in their_ bed, with _Harvey Drake_?

He felt something buried deep inside of him break, as the thought refused to let him move onto more productive work. He _had_ to know, he just had to know if she was all right or if his suspicions were true. He knew that it was he who had asked for the divorce but she had said she didn't love Harvey. She had knelt in the middle of his office yesterday and begged him not to leave her. _Was she really so fickle that she had given up already?_ Maybe she knew a lost cause when he saw one…but still…

Tormented by all the scenarios that his wretched mind had conjured, Don snatched up his car keys and suit jacket, pushed the throbbing pain of his hangover to one side and made for Janie's Desk. Instead he found Colby and…Larry? _What is Larry here for?_ Don thought manically, unable to hide his surprise and displeasure. The last time he had spoken to Larry was…more than six months ago. Don knew that it was because he was giving Don the space that he had requested-_so why is he here now?_

"Hi Don," Larry said softly as if approaching a bolting deer. He sounded like Larry, but he certainly didn't look like Larry-_Oh how Charlie would laugh if he could see him now…_

"Larry," He replied woodenly, hardly able to get the words past his throat as Larry's appearance, in the office of all places, brought back wounding memories of him and Charlie, walking the halls hot on a new case. Of Amita sat at the computer doing magical things that Don couldn't even begin to understand…and of his father, standing where Larry was now, grasping at his heart as slowly he died in Don's arms with accusation in his eyes.

"How are you?" Larry asked conflicted as he watched the horror behind Don's eyes like the last dying embers of a fire that had been poked into revival.

"Why are you here Larry?" Don asked rudely, as he sat down roughly on the small over stuffed couch before his legs gave way.

"We're concerned Don…that you might be drinking again," Colby spoke up, drawing Don's attention away from Larry.

"So you ran to Larry? Why didn't you just ask?" Don shouted angrily, his voice breaking.

"Because I didn't think you'd tell me the truth!" Colby shot back equally angry, Dylan's self-deprecating stare haunting him as the memory of Alan's death haunted Don.

"But I'm not drinking!" Don protested, even though the blood shot eyes and stubble said otherwise. When they both looked at him sceptically, Don shouted, "Search my office if it'll make you feel better! I spent the night here to give Robin her space. If I was drinking again you'd find evidence of it in there," Don gestured to his office. "I warn you now though; you will find nothing and feel foolish for it!"

"I hope that is true. In which case," Larry sighed regretfully, "Please don't think less of us for searching, we think only of you."

Scoffing, Don carried on his self-righteous act, feeling guilty for lying to his friends but knowing that they would never understand the truth. He wasn't an alcoholic, as Dylan had claimed the previous day. He was a man who had suffered a great loss and used alcohol as a crutch. He'd known he couldn't sustain it and his work had suffered for it. Missing out on the promotion to AD had made him realise this and clean up his act. Now, he was just like every other man in America that used alcohol to unwind after a cruel day at work. His friends and family would not understand that of course. They'd whine and bitch and moan…and ransack your office searching for evidence apparently. So patiently, Don sat, knowing all the while that his secretary had already disposed of the bottle earlier. _Note to self, _Don thought sarcastically, _give Janie a raise!_

Finished with their search, Larry walked back into the room looking sheepish. "I'm sorry Don," He said, really meaning it, however, his apology fell on deaf ears.

"I told you I was fine, but it seems my word is good for nothing these days!" Don dug the knife in a little deeper, hoping to make Larry regret the day he stepped foot outside of the monastery.

"That's worse then," Colby said angrily as he joined them in the room, watchful of Don's sneering gaze. "Because I couldn't believe my friend could do that to his own nephew, that other guy, the one you were when you were drinking…I could believe it of him but not of you… So what happened Don? Huh?"

"Something that I deeply regret, I…I got angry and I pushed him. He tripped and fell…I tried to see if he was ok but he ran off before I could and I've been phoning Dylan all day and night since to check that he's ok. He won't return any of my calls!" Don looked worse for wear, luckily Larry and Colby both attributed it to his worry over his nephew, and not to a raging hangover.

"I'm sorry Don…I thought…well…I'm glad you're ok," Colby smiled weakly at his morose friend.

"He'll come home when he's good and ready, you'll see," Larry added sagely.

"Thanks by the way, for last night…for letting me know that he was safe with you…it took a load off my mind," Don smiled equally weak, he felt sick…he needed to get away from here, this office and Larry.

"Its ok…Larry's right, he'll come around eventually. Dylan just needs time," Colby sighed mournfully as he wondered where Dylan was now. _Was he still with Liz? Had he accepted their offer to move in? _Perhaps a phone call to Liz was in order.

Seizing on Colby's sudden lack of attention, Don got up and made an attempt for the door. "Anyway, if you'll excuse me gentlemen, I have to see Robin about a case. Larry it was good seeing you again…you might want to consider a haircut though," He smiled playfully, not feeling it at all.

"Sure, no problem," If Larry was disappointed, he didn't show it.

Without a moment's hesitation, Don fled the office…he didn't look back once. The relief he felt though, was tremendous. Adrenaline, pumping through him, Don made a speedy exit from the building and headed straight for the home that he and Robin had shared for the last seventeen years.

*Robin's Condo*

Pulling into the small underground parking lot that Robin's condo shared with four others, Don let out a small sigh of relief…Harvey's car was nowhere to be seen. His relief, however, was short lived when he realised the alternative. Taking the keys from the ignition, Don sat in his car afraid. If Harvey really wasn't here then she was sick and alone and Don really didn't want that. Of course there was always the chance that she had gotten the food poisoning at some fancy restaurant with Harvey last night, which was almost as unbearable a thought.

Never one to bow to cowardice for too long-_just seventeen years_-Don decided to bite the bullet and got out of the car. He needed to know one way or the other, it was important to him, not that he understood why. He didn't love her anymore. He'd been searching for an out for the last two years, wasn't that why he had asked for the divorce in the first place? He may not like Harvey for it, but hadn't he wrapped Don's misgivings up in a tidy little bow and dropped it on his lap? But still a small part, the part that had stuck with Robin for seventeen years despite his pushing her away, wept a little inside. Not that he would show it. He'd managed to remain emotionally indifferent for _seventeen _years, why would he change that now?

Reaching the small lift that would take him up to the wide courtyard that separated the five condos, Don hesitated again. He knew he'd never find peace until he'd checked on her and yet he paused unsure. Would she want him there? Harvey seemed to think so when he'd declared his love for her in his office yesterday. _"I love her!" Harvey had cried passionately, "But she loves _you_. She won't give up Don. She's determined to win you back and we both know that Robin gets what Robin wants."_

"Not this time," Don whispered to himself before pushing the up button on the slim lift, his resolve restored. It was only a short journey and yet to Don it seemed like forever. Lost in thought, Don didn't even notice when the lift doors slid open and the sun light flooded the cracks of his inconsequential life blinding him.

There was no one about the small courtyard, which Don was relieved about. He couldn't face neighbours right now. He'd come for his wife, with no discernable reason why, he just hoped that one day he would understand. After all had he not wanted this? To be out of her life, no cares, no worries…no responsibilities…

Unsure whether to knock or just go in, Don waited on the doorstep for a long time. It was a good thing he wasn't this indecisive at work. Not that work was ever as complicated as this mess. He hated emotions. Emotions were messy, complicated things that he didn't have time to work out. Liz had called him emotionally stunted when they broke up…what would Robin say about him? He wondered. It would most likely go along the lines of him wasting the last seventeen years of her life. He already knew that she resented him for not giving her the child she'd so craved. What could he have done though? He was a wreck, a bastard and a bad uncle. Why did she want him to throw bad father into the mix?

He hurt people…he knew that and it hurt him back. He didn't relish seeing the pain in others. Robin probably thought he was selfish, unable to see others grief. Don's problem was: how do you care for others when one evening you felt so low that you picked up your service weapon and shoved it between your teeth. It was true there was a time that he'd wanted to end it all. He'd wanted to die. What he would have given to take Charlie's place…it was supposed to be him…Don should have died that day and he had never forgiven himself for that-

-suddenly the door was wrenched open; breaking through Don's confused and jumbled thoughts. Robin stood immaculately dressed, makeup carefully applied to hide the signs of her crying but Don knew her, she never could hide from him. "Don," She said surprised, her beautiful mouth forming a small 'o'.

"I…heard you were unwell," Don replied woodenly, trying to hide the effect that her perfume was having on him.

"Yes…well," She said embarrassed, "I needed the morning to get my affairs in order." She looked away guiltily, her gaze slipping to the small carryon in her hand.

"Are you going somewhere?" Don asked stricken, unable to hide the fear in his voice.

Wavering, unsure why he was even here but sure that he deserved the face to face goodbye and not the hand written note she had left earlier in anger, Robin gestured for him to join her in the house. Inside, Don saw the remains of a grand dinner, it looked untouched, "I made it for us last night…when you didn't come home," She told him angrily, her voice clipped with disproval.

"I'm sorry," Don said earnestly, "I didn't know…"

"You could have called," She whispered, the hurt clear for Don to hear.

"I asked for a divorce," Don stated dumbly.

Rolling her eyes, Robing smoothed out her suit skirt, "I know, how stupid of me. Don't worry Don. I got the message last night."

"Rob," Don whispered, regret lining his voice. He wasn't used to this Robin, her anger on the surface and now he looked hard enough, makeup smudged and blouse fractionally stained. "I…"

"Don't Don. I don't want to rehash yesterday. You were right. We've been clinging on for seventeen years now, our marriage is a sham. I gave you the space you wanted and you hung me with it-"

"Rob-"

"NO! It's my turn to do the talking!" Don stepped back, not afraid but unnerved by her anger…he hadn't known-_if only he'd known!_ "My husband died that day and ever since I've seen flashes…I thought…"

"Robin, please," Don whispered coming up to her and putting his arms around her, lifting her chin with his thumb and finger. She was crying-she never cried. She was the ice bitch…

"NO!" She threw off his embrace, which was easier said than done when all she wanted was to snuggle into his chest and stay there forever. It was the first real contact they had had in years. "Curse you Don! You can't do that…you can't come here now and…it's too late Don. I'm leaving. That international law firm called again last month. I've accepted. I'm leaving for London in the early hours."

"But-"

"No Don, you can't stop me. Our marriage is over…this is what you wanted, don't fight it, ok?" wiping her tears away, Robin smiled weakly at Don, the love of her life. She wasn't sure if she would ever recover from this blow, all she knew is she couldn't heal here. _Just let me heal,_ Robing pleaded silently. Stepping past Don, she paused, leaned up and kissed his stiff cheek. His face was like stone, only flinching slightly as if her kiss scolded him.

Don waited for the door to slam behind her before falling to his knees and weeping openly. Why, he didn't know. She was right, he'd wanted this…hadn't he? _Get up, stop being pathetic,_ the little devil on his shoulder whispered. _You know how to stop the pain…_ "NO!" Don shouted angrily, smashing his fist down on the marble floor.

How long he stayed like that Don didn't know. The house was eerily silent. Robin hated him, Dylan hated him. He had pushed everyone away and all he had was what? An empty house? An empty life? "Charlie," He whispered angrily, his throat rasping from the need to drink.

_What the heck? _He thought angrily. It wasn't like there was anyone else to push away. Standing up, Don moved into the living room and reached into a long vase that Robin had always meant to put a plant in and pulled out the bottle of whiskey he'd hidden there weeks ago. Unscrewing the cap, Don threw it to one side and took a long pull from the bottle. The hot liquid soothed his jagged nerves. He didn't care anymore and so drank with unthinkable determination.

Hours passed on the liquid train to drunksville. It seemed one bottle wasn't enough, nor was two or three. Soon the wide empty lounge became littered with bottles-all ones he had squirreled away at some stage over the last two years. His whole body felt heavy, his movements sluggish, his speech slurred. He was hot, so unbearably hot. Getting up on his third attempt, Don made his way to the small garden and fresh air. The room swam before his unsteady feet, his brain couldn't catch up and tripping on the small step up to the hallway, Don came crashing to the ground with an almighty thwack. Body shaking, bruised head bleeding, Don's whole body shuddered and shook with pain.

*Hours Later*

Standing outside Robin's condo, the place that he had called home for the last two years of his life, Dylan's hand wavered as he raised the key to the lock. Was he ready to face Don? He didn't think he was, and yet if not now, when? He couldn't stay on Colby's couch forever, even if they had offered.

Flexing his fingers, in the hopes to relieve some of the tension in them, Dylan held the key up the lock and hesitated. What state would Don be in by now? Was he drunk? Would the scene at the school repeat itself or was Don sorry? Would he pull his nephew into the hug that he so craved? Don had been relentless with his calling, surely that meant he'd be happy to see his nephew? Don's moods were so fickle; however, that Dylan didn't dare risk it.

Dropping his hand to his side, Dylan shoved his keys inside his jacket and moved back to his jeep. He couldn't go inside, nor could he go to Colby's-he was too proud for that. It looked like it was going to be a long night in the jeep. Maybe Don seeing his nephew too vulnerable to enter the house would weaken his temper towards him.

Sighing, Dylan crawled into the back of his jeep, placed his jacket over him like a blanket and got his book out. Thankfully he'd parked under a light in the small car park, so reading wasn't impossible, his attention on the other hand…

So close to the house, Dylan felt like a coward. He hated feeling so weak. Besides, why shouldn't he go inside? It was his home too… Mind made up, Dylan got back out of his car and hurried back to the condo before he lost his nerve again. Putting his key in the lock and giving it a decisive turn, Dylan pushed the door open and flicked on the hall light. He could see through to the dining room, where some sort of meal was laid out. Where was Robin? Dylan wondered as he hung his jacket up on his peg and moved further down the hallway to the living room where a small lamplight could be made out.

When he got there, he was too stunned for words. Don was lying on the ground, his head cradled in a small pool of blood and vomit. Fortunately for Don they had covered first aid in homeroom. Assessing the danger first, Dylan knelt down next to Don and felt for a pulse, it was weak but it was there. Thanking a God he didn't believe in, Dylan proceeded to check Don's airway and breathing. Again it was weak and shallow but it was there.

Grabbing Don's left hand and flattening it on his right cheek, Dylan lifted Don's left knee and rolled Don into the recovery position. He also opened his mouth wider to help keep his airway clear. With that done, Dylan reached into his pocket and phoned for an ambulance. Hand shaking, he found it hard to keep the phone steady enough to tell the person on the other end his address.

It was a woman's voice. She was calm and reassuring and more importantly kind. She helped Dylan keep it together long enough for the paramedics to turn up. They brought a lot of fancy equipment and spoke foreign words to his buzzing ears. It was a struggle just to stay standing, let alone answer their questions. He could just about say the word 'alcoholic' before being steered into the back of an ambulance.

The ride to the hospital was the longest of his life.


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

*7:30 AM,

LA County Hospital*

Sitting alone in the cramped waiting room, Dylan rubbed tiredly at his temples, as the soft hiss and moan of machine and man filtered through from the busy ER behind him. How long he had sat there for he didn't know…didn't want to know because at any second the handle would turn and a grave looking Doctor would enter and tell him if his uncle was alive…or dead. In a matter of seconds his whole life could be blown apart…again. So selfishly or patiently, he continued to wait, slumped low in a blue plastic chair, in a blue painted room that held little comfort.

Pressing his palms hard against his eyes, Dylan tried once more to banish the image of Don lying helpless in a pool of blood and vomit-tried to shut up the little voice in his head that taunted him that his uncle was dead. _Please__God,__don__'__t__let__him__be__dead!_ Dylan prayed helplessly, and felt a spark of anger at the thought. As scared as he was, he couldn't quite quench the anger that burnt the back of his eyelids and haunted his fitful and restless attempts at sleep.

Sitting up straight in his chair, Dylan listened intently as a young nurse's call for a crash cart reached him through the small crack in the door behind him. His breath caught in his throat as the answering footsteps and squeaky wheels of the crash cart banged through the double doors that Don had been rushed through earlier in the night. Sitting still and straining his ears, Dylan heard the nurse's ragged breaths as she performed CPR mixed with the loud buzz and thump as the machine charged and discharged into the unfortunate patient.

He waited, as the room waited, his heart thumping loudly in his chest. Dylan didn't need to turn and look to know that the room beyond would be frozen. Together, doctors, nurses, patients, all waited eagerly for the machines to make that first initial bleep before picking up the rhythm of life once more. Instead the room was filled with a single monotone bleep as the patient continued to flatline.

"_No__…__NO!__WAKE__UP!__JUSTIN!__NO__…__PLEASE!__Please!__No__…__no__…__NO!__"_ A woman shouted passionately before being dragged off by a sympathetic doctor. Would that be him? If the doctor pronounced Don dead…would he feel anything but this continuous burning sense of anger and resentment? Would he cry? Would he shout, throw up a fuss…make a scene? Dylan didn't think so, but it was too close to call. All he knew was that he couldn't face going through life alone anymore.

"Dylan?" Larry's ever calm and soothing voice reached out from across the room. With all the buzzing in his ears, Dylan had completely missed his entrance.

"D?" Colby asked equally worried and equally distant.

Hiding his face from his surrogate family, Dylan pressed his palms to his eyes as they leaked his relief. "Oh Dylan," Larry whispered as he knelt down beside Dylan's shaking body as huge hiccupping sobs threatened to strangled his throat.

Reaching out, fed up with being brave or strong, Dylan embraced Larry tightly and refused to let go. "They won't tell me anything Larry," Dylan cried roughly between sniffs.

"I know, I know," Larry whispered soothingly as he rubbed Dylan's back.

"Don's strong," Colby told Dylan kindly as he sat down beside him, his voice lacking conviction. "I've no doubt that he'll pull through and be griping at us again soon enough."

"People die here Col...he needs more than strength," Dylan replied pessimistically as he let go of Larry to meet Colby's eye.

"Pray for him then," Larry chipped in as he took a seat on Dylan's other side.

"I…I don't believe," Dylan mumbled shyly, even though he'd done nothing but pray and barter since he had first found his uncle. Picking at a hole in his tattered jeans, Dylan avoided the pair's concerned gazes. It didn't occur to Dylan that he hadn't changed clothes in almost three days.

"Then I shall pray for both of us," Larry squeezed Dylan's shoulder comfortingly, "Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven."

"Give us this day our daily bread," Colby chimed in, not a true believer, but ready to try anything at this stage, "And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil, for thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory, for ever and ever. Amen."

"Amen," Dylan whispered under his breath as the handle turned and a grave looking doctor walked in.

"Mr Eppes?" The doctor asked gruffly. He was dressed smartly in a suit and white jacket. Taking a sharp breath in, Dylan prepared himself for the worse. Nodding, unable to speak, Dylan let the doctor continue. "He's going to be ok," The doctor smiled grimly, "Physically at least. We intubated him to protect his airway, before pumping his stomach to prevent further toxins entering his blood stream. He's going to be pretty much out of it for the next twenty four to forty eight hours but otherwise he's going to be just fine."

"Thank the lord," Larry sighed his relief, as Dylan's whole body turned to stone in his arms.

"Yes…well…" The doctor stumbled at the cold, barely concealed, anger radiating from his patient's nephew. "He'll need looking after once he has been released…I'm recommending the following rehab facilities…" Handing the pamphlets over to Colby, the doctor made to leave-he'd never liked dealing with his patient's families, especially in substance abuse cases. Pausing, hand on the door handle, the doctor turned back around and addressed the room, "I'll let you know when you can go sit with him."

"Don't bother," Dylan stood, shocking even himself.

"Dylan?" Larry asked confused.

"I'm sorry but I can't do this. I can't pretend that everything's ok. Because they may have pumped his stomach today but who's going to stop him from filling it again tomorrow? This whole situation is just so fucked up…and we facilitate it…I facilitate it…_no_ more…" Grabbing his coat from the back of the uncomfortable chair, Dylan barged past the doctor and kept walking, out of the room, out of the ER and away from the hospital. He had no car and nowhere to go, but none of this was new.

Don't get him wrong, he was relieved his uncle was ok…but deep down, in his heart, if Dylan was completely honest? Dylan knew that Don wouldn't go to rehab. For Don there was no problem…and Dylan was fed up of pretending not to notice.

Pulling up the collar on his coat, Dylan headed for the subway. Where next? Who knew, but for once…Dylan didn't care. He was just so angry; he could feel it burning like a hot poker under his skin-just like an itch he couldn't scratch. He needed to calm down, regroup and think things through.

There was only one place in the world that he could think of that gave him that kind of clarity. Unfortunately he was banned, but when had that ever stopped Dylan Eppes before? Knowing he'd regret it if he didn't go, Dylan held out his hand and flagged down the nearest taxi. Don would be fine…and if he wasn't? That wasn't really Dylan's concern anymore.

*9:00 PM,

LA County Hospital*

Looking up at the busy constellation of stars above him, Colby marvelled at the clarity of the night's sky, much unlike his own clouded judgement of late. How else could he explain just letting Dylan walk out like that and not going after him. Just because Larry said so was not a good enough excuse-not anymore. _What__if__Larry__was__wrong?_ _What__if__I__was__wrong?_Colby questioned himself endlessly, already knowing that following Dylan would only have done more harm than good right now.

Regardless, it had been hours since Dylan had stormed out and no one had heard from him since. _Why__hasn__'__t__he__come__back?_ Colby thought with genuine anguish. He knew how scared Dylan had been about Don, after all his voicemail had more than spoken for itself. Alone, frightened…small, vulnerable-Dylan had been all of these things and more and it hurt Colby to think that Dylan had sat all night in a room the size of a cupboard, in a hospital that reeked of death and somehow lasted the night.

True, Dylan was seventeen years old and more than capable of looking after himself, _but__he__shouldn__'__t__have__to!_ Colby told himself again-forever reminding himself that Dylan was still technically a child-not even a legal adult yet, and yet somehow he had always managed to circumnavigate the tireless mess that they had created for him. True, Dylan didn't live up to his potential, to the image Charlie had dreamt for him, but his whole world had been turned upside down when he was only five years old, and it had never been righted again.

Looking at his mobile now, Colby wondered about trying Dylan's cell again, but called Liz instead. When she answered, he smiled just for the sound of her lilting tone in his ear. Drinking in the pleasure of it, Colby took a deep breath before answering her worried questions. "Don's fine dear, really," Colby assured his wife for the thousandth time that day.

Knowing how worried she was, Colby bit back the temptation to bite her head off over his own concerns about Dylan; however, hearing the catch in his breath, Liz automatically understood her husband's need for news on Dylan's whereabouts and held back any further questions she might have had. "I haven't been able to find him," Liz admitted dejectedly, unlike her usual self. She sounded resigned and afraid and for once like a total stranger.

"Have you been to the pier?" Colby asked desperate, knowing already that at such a late hour it was a long shot.

"I'm their now…I asked around but no one's seen him since the other night. Col…" She hesitated, "I think it's time to call it a night."

"No!" He shouted accusingly. "He's out there and we need to find him. Don's asking for him and I can't lie…I'm sick of lying all the time!"

"Colby!" She gasped ashamed, "I've looked, _hard_, but he's nowhere to be seen. I went everywhere you told me to look, including the craftsman home and the pier! We have to face it Col, this time…_he__doesn__'__t__want__to__be__found__!_"

"But…I have to, I…I made a promise!" He sounded so strained that Liz's heart went out to him and for the first time in a long time since "the incident" Liz hated Charlie and the burden that he had placed upon her husband.

For it was years ago, as Charlie's BP dropped and his body began to shiver the inevitable, that Colby had grasped his friend's deformed and marred hand and promised that he would look after his family for him after he was gone. It was a dying man's last wish, and Colby had been honour bound not to refuse. Charlie hadn't known that Amita had died on the scene, or that his son had almost pitched himself into the flames after her…all he knew was that he was dying and someone had to protect his family.

Had Charlie known, Liz still thought he might ask it of her husband…but could she blame him? When one miserable night, one heinous act and a split second had burnt the sky crimson and scorched the earth black and changed their lives for the worse. Knowing what she knew now, she was certain that in Charlie's place she would easily have burdened him in return if it meant that there would be someone to watch and guide Hannah and Brandon in moments such as this.

At the time, holding onto every inch of strength, Charlie had only managed to hang on long enough to hear Colby swear upon his last shuddering breath that he would step up and become the uncle that they both knew Don could never be. Hell Don had never even made it to the hospital to see his brother die…thinking back, no longer resentful, Colby thought it was probably for the best. He didn't want his friend's already haunted dreams to see the scarred remains of his once perfect and innocent younger brother…no one deserved that, not even Don-even after all the pain that he had wrought since.

Sighing their mutual pain down the line, Liz held the phone between her cheek and shoulder before attempting to buckle her exhausted toddler into his car seat. She had been everywhere in search for Dylan, and whilst she didn't want to leave him alone in the cold at night, she had her own family to protect. Colby knew this and one day, she hoped he could forgive her for giving up too soon or too quickly.

Mind made up, son buckled in; Liz took the phone in her hand once more and planned how best to let her husband down as gently as she could. "Colby, I have to go home now. Brandon's wiped, Hannah's waiting and Dylan doesn't want our help. If he did he would come to the house. We just have to wait and see if he comes to the same conclusion. He's angry but he will think about our offer yesterday and when he's ready…he'll come to us…I'm sure of it," She didn't sound sure, but she did sound tired. Regretting sending her on the wild goose chase in the first place, Colby had to agree that Dylan would come to his senses-he just hoped that it was sooner rather than later.

"Your right," he yawned his own tiredness, marvelling at how much the hospital could sap at your strength. Perhaps it was the utter helplessness the relatives felt or the unnerving feeling of death, in his own way Colby wished he could be as brave as Dylan. To walk away and leave Don to the mess he had created, but deep down he still felt like he could get through to Don and as long as he felt it was possible, Colby knew he had to try.

Saying his goodbyes, and leaving another message for Dylan, extending their offer to stay again, Colby went back to Don's room where he found Larry on his knees praying, tears running down his cheeks. It seemed that Colby wasn't the only one suffering the weight of Charlie's burden.

"He lied," Larry said grieved, he didn't need to turn and look at Colby for him to know the pain that was etched there. "He looked me straight in the eye and said he wasn't drinking again…"

"He's an addict…addicts lie," Shrugging, Colby moved over to the bed and laid a hand on Larry's rigid shoulder.

"I was so blind…to take his word like that just because what? Because it was convenient…so that I could go home and pretend that I'd done my part?" Larry spat angrily.

"This isn't your fault," Colby sighed as he knelt down beside Larry and rested his elbows on Don's hospital bed.

"Then who's?" Larry tuned and looked at Colby for the first time since entering. "I promised Alan I'd look after his boy…instead I ran away…out of sight out of mind…"

"It's Don's fault," Colby told him outraged. "The sooner he accepts that the sooner he can recover."

"And if he doesn't? I keep praying that he'll seek help but he never did before why would he now?" Larry, with effort, stood up. "Dylan was right…Don will never accept responsibility until we stop tidying up after him. How many times do you think he he's been drunk on duty? Eh?"

"Don wouldn't," Colby gasped his surprise…but if he was truthful the thought had been plaguing him since he'd first seen Dylan's injuries.

"We don't know that," Larry sighed sadly, this time putting his hand on Colby's shoulder. "The man…the addict in that bed…he can't be trusted."

"What do you want to do Larry? We can't force him to rehab…" Colby looked uncertainly at the unconscious Don. All the time wondering which one would wake up…his repenting friend or the angry drunk going through detox.

"No…but I can't watch him kill himself either," Larry turned his face away ashamed.

"So you're going to leave like Dylan? You're going to turn your back and abandon him…_your__promise__to__his__father__!__"_ Colby shouted insultingly.

"We both made promises to fathers that we cannot keep…" Larry sighed angrily, "Not whilst the sons continue to push us away. I'm not walking away from Don…just the stranger he's become. He knows where to find me if he does the right thing and goes to rehab."

"Maybe you're right…but I prefer to find out before I walk away," Colby said accusingly.

"And as always Colby you're a better man than I for it." Leaving the room, Larry closed it behind him with a firm click. All Colby could do was watch in disbelief. Larry was the holy man, but his actions were anything but. _He__does__have__a__point__though__,__doesn__'__t__he__?_ Colby's conscience nagged at him as his knees grew painful from the weight of him. Folding his hands together in front of him, Colby prayed for all of them, especially Don and Dylan.

One thing was clear, Don needed to go to rehab for all their sakes and before the pain tore them all apart.

*Meanwhile at

Dalton Academy for the Gifted*

Cheeks flushed, lips chapped, skin drenched in sweat; Dylan pulled back and with the swiftest flick of the wrist, sent the puck soaring into the back of the net. It had only been a couple days since his last practice but it had felt like forever. Right now, with all the drama and insanity of his life, this felt right and real to Dylan. The rush of blood, the swoosh of his skates as he glided across the ice and the exhilaration of the perfect pass…

He'd been there all day, locked away on the ice. Blocking and passing to himself as he ran through an assortment of drills that the coach made them run through every other day. The pure adrenaline rush as Dylan walked back out onto the ice. There had been no other high quite like it. Closing his eyes, Dylan could almost hear the roar of the crowd as they screamed their pleasure and swore he could almost feel the vibrations of hundreds of feet slamming against wooden bleachers as they beat their fury and excitement against the plastic barriers around the rink. The aggressive masculinity of the sport had always fed his anger, used it productively. Who needed to hit an arrogant immature jock when he could break collar bones and body check his frustrations out on the opposite team and call it sport?

But…as the cold slowly seeped into his bones and his movements slowed from tiredness, Dylan finally accepted that he couldn't stay out on the ice forever. It didn't, however, mean that he had to go back to the hospital…not yet at least. It was a Saturday, and whilst he had technically broken into the school and was now trespassing on private property, Dylan knew that he was safe. The janitor would be watching the game and no one else would be stupid enough to break into school.

Stripping off, Dylan threw his soiled uniform into the team's laundry basket in the corner before making his way over to the school's communal showers. That morning, he had worked out in the school's connected gymnasium, before stretching out and moving onto the ice. Now in the late hours, Dylan could feel his muscles contract with pain-but it was a good pain, unlike anything he had ever felt about his fucked up home life.

Stepping under the hot water he let it scorch his skin, as he rubbed shower gel over his tight chest, tight from the workout but more so from the fear that constricted his heart and threatened to choke his throat. He'd used today to run from his demons, but it had been a childish thing to do. He knew that Colby would be fretting over his whereabouts, and was certain he'd never think to look at the school, after all that's partly why he had chosen to come here. However, with the night drawing on, Dylan began to realise that he couldn't stay here. As much as he wanted to shut the world out and pretend that everything would stop in his absence, his world was continuing to unravel, even without him, perhaps more so in light of his recent disappearance.

Feeling remorse, Dylan washed away the soapy remains of his intensive workout and turned the shower off. Grabbing a fresh white towel from a stack in the corner, Dylan slung the towel low around his hips, letting the cool air dry his skin as he sat and pondered his fate on a long wooden bench between the lockers. It was there that Coach Anderson found him a scant few minutes later.

"Dylan?" He half asked, half said in shock, "What are you doing here?" Coach Anderson, known as Andy to his players, had been told about Dylan's suspension in disbelief. He knew that Dylan was a wild card, why else would he have been in his anger management classes, but fracturing the quarterback's arm? He would never have believed it if Dylan hadn't confessed and been suspended from school and matches for two weeks.

Dylan was definitely the last person he had expected to find when he had seen the steam from his office. His first thought had been to get angry and throw Dylan out, but at the same time the hopelessness in Dylan's eyes as he met the coach's eyes, rocked the man to his very soul. Andy had never had kids. He thought of the team as his kids and he could see that right now this kid needed his help. So instead of turning Dylan away, Andy sat down and waited for him to speak first.

"I…I didn't know were else to go," Dylan replied eventually. He sounded so vulnerable, so childish and totally at odds with the muscled and toned young man that he was, that Andy had to blink the tears away before answering.

"Does this have to do with your suspension? Or your fight with your uncle afterwards?" Andy asked taking a wild guess. He knew a little about Dylan's problems from their group therapy sessions but it had been a while since Dylan had last attended. All Andy knew for sure was that Dylan needed a male role model in his life and until he got one he'd be forced to repeat his bad behaviour, which was clearly a desperate cry for attention from Dylan to his uncle.

"It's about my uncle but not about the fight," Dylan told his coach, the only constant and reliable person in his life to date. "He…I found…"

"It's ok," Andy smiled encouragingly at Dylan as he straddled the wooden bench, "Take your time, this is a safe place, no one's judging you here."

"I found him passed out, drowning on his own vomit," Dylan whispered sharply, the hatred in voice shocked Andy to the core. All he'd ever heard from Dylan in past sessions was a blind denial to his uncle's short comings. Seeing his uncle implode from his own selfish addiction was clearly the final straw for his exasperated nephew.

"Is he…?"

"Ok…yes," Dylan sighed, biting his bottom lip in uncertainty.

"You're not happy about that?" Andy asked surprised, Dylan was tough as nails but he wasn't intentionally cruel. Andy didn't think Dylan would want his uncle intentionally hurt…and yet the pain in Dylan's eyes suggested otherwise.

"No! Yes…can't I be both?" Dylan hunched over, resting his heavy head in his hands.

"I suppose…but…"

"But you don't understand why?" Dylan asked, finishing Andy's question for him. "Isn't it obvious? I was so scared when I found him…selfishly I started to hate Don for leaving me alone in this world…resented him for the peace he would finally get in death…that he might be with my mom and dad. But I love him and I don't wish him dead or in pain…just maybe enough to make him rethink his alcoholic ways…is that so terrible?"

"I think…that it's understandable given everything you've had to contend with in your short life," Andy folded his arms, hating Dylan's uncle and understanding him at the same time. "However…and you need to understand this, Don won't change until he wants to change. People don't just become addicts for no reason. There's always a reason…and not always a good one. Addicts are addicts because we're desperately trying to avoid facing up to reality. You love your uncle and you want to protect him. Your whole family does…but protecting Don from the mess of his life is the worst thing you could be doing. He has to see what he's done to you…what his life has become and from there, in his lowest possible moment he will realise that he needs help. Hopefully this will be that moment for your uncle…but if it isn't, then you have to stay strong and let your uncle know that his behaviour is not acceptable or tolerated. He has to hit rock bottom to change. It will be hard to watch and you'll feel cruel…but it's what we do to save the ones we love."

Andy frowned intently at his last statement and seeing it, Dylan shook his head in confusion. "Who did you know that needing saving?" Dylan asked; hope sparking in his eyes as he considered his coach and mentors advice.

"My brother, Ed…it's the worst thing in the world to watch the ones we love throw their lives away..." Andy said around a sudden choking sadness about his brother whom had been an alcoholic…he'd gotten behind the wheel of a car and wrapped both it and himself around a lamppost…neither one survived, not that Andy would tell Dylan this. No, Dylan needed encouragement right now, and who knew…perhaps Dylan could come out the other side unscathed. "I think it's time we left. You got a place to stay? I'll give you a lift," Andy asked as he got up and turned away so Dylan could dress but more importantly, so Dylan couldn't read the loss in his eyes.

"Yes…there is somewhere you could drop me off actually," Smiling with new hope, Dylan pulled on a pair of tracksuit bottoms and a hoodie from his locker and dressed quickly-not bothering with underwear as his old clothes left a lot to be desired, plus he hated getting back into dirty clothes after a shower.

Ready, and sure he was finally doing the right thing, the adult thing; Dylan buckled himself into his coach's car and braced himself for the inevitably long and difficult night ahead.

*10:00 PM,

Colby and Liz's Bungalow*

Pulling into her small bungalow's long driveway, Liz stifled another yawn as her son stirred in his blue car seat. "Almost there baby," She smiled in the rear-view mirror, making Brandon smile groggily in return. He had been oddly compliant today, with minimal tears and tantrums, completely oblivious of his parents and sister's distress and worry. In his simple life, the world had continued to turn and the sun continued to rise and fall with it. For everyone else though? It was amazing how crucial Don was to their group's survival. For years now they had lived their lives around Don, ignoring his problems. Liz couldn't help but feel that they'd been wrong to do so and now Dylan was suffering for it.

Tuning the ignition off, Liz climbed out of the car and moved round to the back to unbuckle her son. Grabbing fistfuls of her hair, Brandon giggled with childish abandon, life nothing but a big game. "Let go of Mamas hair," Liz smiled, drinking in his innocence as she hoisted him onto her hip whilst simultaneously locking the car with the click of a button.

It wasn't until she made her way up to the porch and front door that she noticed the small glow of a cigarette in the darkness. "Hello," Dylan smiled uncertainly, relieved that Liz couldn't see his hands shaking.

"Dylan!" She bellowed her surprise, all day she'd looked for Dylan and here he was slouched on her porch swing. "Where have you been?" She half cried, half shouted just grateful he was safe and that she could ring Colby back with the good news.

"I was at school…I needed to skate…it's where I do my best thinking," he replied dimpling impishly as he blushed his guilt. "I know walking out was immature," Dylan told her solemnly, "I'm sorry to make you worry," And though she hadn't said as much, Dylan knew that she'd spent all day tugging Brandon around looking for him.

"I'm just glad you're safe," She smiled, taking his hand in hers and gave it a maternal squeeze. "How'd your thinking go?" She asked curiously, though masked it as mild interest.

"Really well," He grimaced, remembering the coach's advice, "Though I've come to some conclusions that you and Colby might not like…" He added nervously. She could feel his pulse quicken against her fingertips.

"Such as?" She enquired breathlessly, knowing immediately that Dylan's response would be a game changer for all of them.

"Like I can't go back to the hospital," Dylan sighed his frustration.

"But Don's been asking after you," She rushed to assure him, only making his decision harder.

"I know…but it's not enough now. I can't be his nephew whilst he's drinking. I've had enough of being yelled at, beaten…disappointed by that man. It's me or the alcohol…there is no in between anymore." Dylan reasoned, he'd gone back and forth over this decision but had finally settled with severing all ties with his uncle. Life was painful enough already without his uncle adding to it. "I'm not naive enough to believe that he'll pick me…" Dylan stated matter of fact, his sureness broke her heart. "I hope that he gets help, that he gets better…but he's going to have to do it alone…I want no further part in it."

"Oh Dylan," He turned away at the pain in her voice, his heart breaking. This wasn't supposed to be his life…it wasn't.

"Can I…stay here? I mean is the invitation to stay still there?" Dylan turned back, relieved to see the smile twisting at the corners of her mouth.

"Of course you can, as long as you need. Your family," Taking her hand, Dylan kissed it gently and thanked her under his breath. He'd been pretty sure she'd say yes, but he would have understood if she'd said no.

"In which case," Dylan smiled, taking Brandon in his arms whilst Liz unlocked the front door, "What do you say to a late night snack and a hot chocolate? I'm famished."

"I think that can be arranged," Liz laughed as she boiled the kettle for the hot chocolates whilst Dylan laid Brandon down to rest.

"Thanks Liz," He gave her a swift kiss on the cheek and a tight hug. He'd never gotten a chance to know his mother, but he thought that she must have been a lot like Liz, so closing his eyes Dylan let himself pretend…even if it was only for the briefest moment.

"No problem kiddo," Liz stroked the back of Dylan's head comfortingly, letting him pretend, after all Dylan was like a second son to her and he most definitely needed a mothers touch, God knows Robin wasn't the maternal type, and so she held him till he pulled back, dried his tears, poured the hot chocolates and waited until Dylan fell into a fitful and restless sleep.

Pulling the blanket up over his cold body, Liz held Dylan tightly against her, continuing to stroke his hair, letting his soft black curls slide effortlessly through her fingers whilst she waited for Colby to come home and the memories of her best friend exploding in a towering inferno to disappear.

*4:00 AM,

The Next Morning, LA County Hospital*

Watching Don convulse in his sleep, Robin sat on the small window seat and waited patiently for him to find consciousness, he always did once the tremors started. He'd be confused at first as his tired mind caught up again on the night's events. He'd reach out for her and she'd take his hand, all the while stroking his damp forehead and whispering soothing words of comfort. He'd cry-he always cried-and ask _her_for forgiveness again, which of course she'd give because he was sick and depressed and needed her now more than ever.

She knew all this because he'd been doing it all day. With her forgiveness given, he'd smile a small restrained peaceful smile, whisper for her not to leave him all the while his grasp on her hand would loosen as once more he drifted back into a broken and distressed sleep. She could only imagine the demons that now chased him behind those closed eyelids.

Shivering, Robin pulled the hospital blanket that the nurse had given her, tightly around her shoulders and held it closed under her chin. The doctor said that Don was suffering withdrawal and that his symptoms would only get worse before getting better. That it could be days, weeks before he would be properly clean, that the temptation to drink would always be there for him. That in his experience after all was said and done; Don still might not accept her help.

Tears dropping down her porcelain smooth cheeks, Robin took a deep shuddering breath in. She had danced this dance with Don for a long time. She knew he could do it if he chose to, he had before…but something deep inside niggled away at her, screaming that he can't change. That he won't change.

"Robin?" He croaked as he finally trembled awake. His throat was dry and his head felt like it was on fire.

"I'm here baby," She told him gently, as she eased herself of the window seat and moved over to his bed side.

"Where's Dylan?" Don asked, looking around his room and finding it shockingly empty.

"He's at Colby and Liz's," She whispered, kissing his damp forehead, heart breaking from the pain in Don's eyes.

"Why…why isn't he here?" He voice sounded confused, but his eyes were weary with realisation.

"He's had enough Don," Robin told him bluntly, her own voice lased with anger. She had been at the airport, waiting to board the airplane to a new life. It was selfish of her but she'd actually felt relieved after she'd left him. Like she could breathe again…and here she was, back in his tangled mess of self-destruction. She didn't know if she had the strength to leave him a second time and was scared of what he might do if she did.

"Enough?" Don asked disbelievingly. "Oh…"

"Don…please. Give him time. You gave him such a fright…I'm sure he just needs time to get past it." Robin lied, knowing perfectly how Dylan felt and not blaming him at all. "You gave us all a fright," She whispered as she took his and kissed it. She so badly wanted to believe he'd change, but she could see it there...everything he wasn't saying screamed that he wanted a drink.

"I want to go home," Don told her angrily, dropping her hand in an instant.

"The doctors think that you should stay a few days…your withdrawal will be long and painful. You should stay." Her voice sounded pleading even to her own ears and she resented herself for it.

"No, there's nothing here that I need. What I need is to go home," Pulling his cover back, Don swivelled on the bed so he could stand.

"Don," She almost shouted her voice cold and unforgiving. "Do this…and I'm leaving," she threatened, sounding braver than she felt.

"Fine," He sounded resigned. "Go on then. There's the door. Leave, you did before…why not now? Why not go and find Dylan…you can both leave together!"

She could tell that he was hurt, she could hear the pain in his voice but she also felt angry. He hadn't changed, this wasn't the wakeup call they were hoping for. "Ok…then I'm gone," Moving over to the door, Robin laid her hand upon the handle, if she'd expected him to stop her she was she was sorely mistaken. "You need help Don. You need to stop drinking and go to rehab. Dylan's left you, you've pushed me away…do you have to loose everyone before you admit that you're an alcoholic?" When he didn't answer, only turned his head away so he was no longer looking at her, Robin sighed. "Just don't kill yourself," She whispered and left. Left the Room, left the hospital, but more importantly left Don.


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

*12:00 PM,

The Next Day, LA County Hospital*

"Mr Eppes, I strongly advise against this," The disapproving doctor told Don once more. "If you leave now-"

"-What? I'm more likely to fall back into my alcoholic ways?" Don replied scornfully, causing the doctor to frown. "Look…you wanted me to stay longer. Well, I waited an extra day and now _I__'__m__done_."

"You stayed the extra day because you were puking your guts out," The doctor spoke out of turn. As if realising this, he tried another approach. "Look, Mr Eppes…stay till the end of the week. Most of your withdrawal pains will be gone and you can go on and rebuild your life."

"If I wait the week…there won't be a life to rebuild," Don winced as his stomach rolled from the effort of standing. The young doctor rushed forward to help but Don waved him away. He couldn't remember this concerned doctor's name and Don felt bad about that, so gentling his tone he tried to make him see his side. "It started with my nephew, then my fake uncle, then my wife…they all left and I need to get them back. I can't do this without them."

"Ok," the doctor sighed defeated, "I'll go get the discharge forms."

Don watched and waited for the doctor to leave before rushing to the small en-suit and hurling back up the meagre breakfast he'd consumed that morning. His hands shook from the effort as he reached for the flush and he cursed them for it. _God__he__needed__a__drink._

Pushing the thought from his aching head, Don stood and looked at himself in the wide mirror. He hardly recognised himself. His usually soft black hair lay lank against his head and giant smudges lined his eyes. His skin was an unnatural pale yellow that practically hung off of him. He'd lost a lot of weight and it didn't look healthy on him. Thinking back on the last few weeks Don couldn't remember when he'd last eaten properly or the last time he'd had anything but a liquid lunch.

Turning his back on the stranger in the mirror, Don sunk to his knees and pounded the floor with tight fists. Letting out a strangles sob, Don pressed his aching head against the cool tiles of the bathroom floor. The last time he'd looked this bad was in the weeks following Charlie's death. He'd hated himself then and he hated himself now. No wonder everyone had been griping at him recently if this is what they saw. The ironic thing was that he thought he'd hidden it so well…but Dylan had known, somehow he'd always known.

For the first time in a long time, Don stood up straight, chin stuck out to the world and left the bathroom, walking out on his own pity party before it had truly had chance to begin. The doctor was sat on the bed waiting for him with that concerned look upon his face once more. Don wondered how long he'd been practicing medicine for. Charlie had briefly considered it once, before he'd fully understood his mathematic gift. "Thanks," Don mumbled feebly when the doctor handed over the forms. Without even reading them Don left his signature at the bottom of the page and handed them back.

"I know its beating a dead horse…but I brought you some pamphlets on some really good rehab facilities," The doctor held them out. When Don didn't take them he added, "I know you think you don't have a problem, but if you're serious about winning your family back these," he tapped the pamphlets, "_these__are__how_."

"Bye Doc," Don said, grabbing his bag and throwing it roughly over his shoulder. The Doctor made a move to stop him but thought better of it. Instead, sighing deeply, he put the pamphlets down on the ruffled bed, getting up he grabbed Don's chart, adding the discharge forms to it. Pausing at the door, Don cursed himself for his weakness and went back for the leaflets, "I'll bear it in mind," Don nodded as he took the pamphlets from the bed and left the room.

Flagging down the nearest taxi, Don gave the driver Colby's address. He needed to win his family back; starting with his nephew-Dylan was the key. Resisting his burning desire for alcohol, Don thought back to their fight at the school. Even a smidgen of alcohol and Dylan would know and Don would lose him forever. "You ok?" The driver asked uncertainly, he was clearly worried that Don might hurl in the back of his precious cab.

"Just step on it ok?" Don told the driver impatiently and was rewarded with a one-sided shrug and a deep forehead creasing frown. It did, however, have the desired effect. Most likely because the driver wanted Don out of the cab as soon as possible, which suited Don just fine.

Resting his head back, Don shut his eyes and tried to block out the noise of the city. There was a pounding behind his eyes that wouldn't go away and his stomach threatened to heave-it was worse than any hangover. His whole body was still trembling just from the effort to reach the cab, and now the motion of it was making his stomach do summersaults.

Eventually Don settled back into a sort of trance, his body riding the motion of the car like a jockey riding the winning horse or a surfer riding the perfect wave. He even drifted into some semblance of sleep, though not entirely restful for once he didn't see the disappointed frown of his dead brother. It was defiantly progress, right up until a sudden loud screeching plunged him into bitter wakefulness. Straightening in his seat and instinctively reaching for his Glock, which he assumed was back at Robin's Condo, Don realised that the driver had opened the window a crack for him.

The faintest of breezes reached his swollen cheeks and it was the most wonderful sensation in the world. Blushing furiously, Don thanked the driver as he settled back in his seat, his heart still pounding. The doctor had warned Don of the potential side effects of withdrawal, anxiety and panic attacks amongst them. Breathing in deep shuddering breaths, Don reclaimed his composure, the rare tranquillity of his sleep unfortunately broken.

Whilst he had been sleeping, the cab had reached the suburbs, the sounds of the city now long behind them. Colby and Liz's small bungalow wasn't far away and Don still needed to order his thoughts, to decide what to say. Somehow sorry seemed so hollow to Don now and most likely would to Dylan as well.

However, still unsure of how to reach his nephew, Don ran out of time as the cab came to a stop in Colby and Liz's long driveway. Colby was already waiting in to doorway when Don climbed out.

"What are you doing here?" Colby berated him kindly, "You should be in hospital!" Smiling Don took in the sight of his oldest friend. He could see genuine fear and love there, finally an ally, someone who hadn't turned against him.

"I needed to see Dylan," Don smiled weakly as he hobbled up the front steps of the porch.

"Oh," Colby frowned, not returning Don's smile and chewed his bottom lip. The first waves of alarm hit Don's chest and sent his heart fluttering again.

"Where's Dylan?" Don asked his voice weak to his own ears.

"He's at school at the moment," Colby admitted reluctantly.

Considering him carefully, Don sat down on the small, wonky porch swing. Kicking his heels back, Don let the swing creek his frustration for him. "Why is he at school? He got suspended."

"He went first thing this morning to apologise to Ms Holland _and_ the quarterback," Colby told Don thoughtfully before pulling the front door closed and siting down on the porch steps, his face artfully concealed from Don.

"Ok…" Don prompted, he felt tired, so tired.

"Did you know that he's never once apologised before? All the crap he's pulled and never once did he take responsibility. Turns out she was so impressed she revoked his suspension on the spot. He still needs to be tutored to get his grades up, but he's allowed to class and practice, under the proviso he doesn't screw up again." Colby shook his head, still amazed that the frowning disapproving lady had relented.

"Wow," Don said, equally impressed. "I can't believe the bitch relented."

"Don!" Colby hissed outraged, his friend would never have said that about Ms Holland.

"What she is and you know it!" Don replied glibly.

"Look Don," Colby told Don, his voice like steel, "I know what you came for…but…he's angry."

"He's been angry before," Don waved Colby's concern away with the flick of a hand.

"Its worse this time," Colby sighed. "_You__almost__died_," Colby's voice broke with pain and Don started to hear it. "He has nightmares you know…not about finding you but _that__night__with__his__parents_. Liz found him screaming last night…he tried to explain it away but I think finding you…like that…well it triggered something for him.

"Col, I'm sorry…I…I didn't know," Don sighed, turning his head away as he remembered that night-the familiar tremors rolling their way down his spine.

"You know what the problem is?" Colby swivelled to look at his old friend, disgust in his eyes, "He's been staying with you for _two__years_ now Don. It's about time that you realised that it's your God damn job to know!"

"Col!" Don snapped his head back distressed. "I know I fucked up, but that's why I'm here, I want to set thing straight. I want to be there for Dylan…I want to make it better for him."

"No you want to make it better for _you_. You want to help Dylan. You want to save whatever relationship you have with him…then go to rehab, get help…_leave_ Dylan alone until you clean yourself up."

"I can't Col. I need to see him. I need him to know that I can make it better, that I'm willing to get help. He's _my__nephew_ Colby; he belongs with me…_not__you_." Getting up, Don clutched at his stomach as he made his way past a stunned Colby back to the cab that he'd had wait for him in case.

"You're making a mistake Don!" Colby shouted after Don's retreating back. "You're going to lose him, just like you lost Larry and Robin and…and me!"

"We'll see," Don smiled a clipped smile as he climbed back into the cab. He didn't say goodbye, but Colby hadn't expected him to. Reaching into his pocket for his cell, Colby gave Dylan a ring and left a warning message on his voice mail. Dylan was most likely in practice right now, but hopefully he'd get the message before Don turned up and made everything a million times worse.

Sighing, Colby got up and went inside to tell Liz…he didn't want to turn his back on Don, but the stranger Colby had just seen…that cold, uncaring, resentful man…that wasn't his friend, and it broke his heart to think as much.

*1:00 PM.

Dalton Academy for the Gifted*

Crouching low, Dylan beat his stick upon the ice and waited. He rarely played in goal but Coach Anderson thought it important for all the players to get a well-rounded practice in. Hearing the rush of skates and snap of stick, Dylan pounced. He was up against the team's captain Dale. Dylan knew that Dale was weak to his left so logic told Dylan to skid right. Instinct, however, told Dylan to skid left. With the puck bearing down fast, Dylan leaped left and slid his stick against the ice and was satisfied by the resulting thwack of rubber hitting wood. Howling his laughter, Dale gave Dylan a thumbs up.

Feeling the rush of adrenaline Dylan howled his own triumph. Not a single puck had made it past him, he was in the zone. Some would say it was because Dylan had finally relieved himself of the weight of a drunken uncle; Dylan just called it pure raw talent. Crouching low again Dylan beat his stick twice against the tough ice, spraying ice chips in the air as he challenged the next opponent. It was his reluctant friend Gary.

Smiling Dylan watched Gary begin his skate up, watched as his body contracted, the stick lowered to the ground and…out of the corner of his eye, Dylan watched the stadium door bang shut behind his uncle, closely followed by Coach Anderson. Behind his frozen body, lights flashed and music blared and his team mates danced for Gary's unlikely pass.

Pulling his gloves off and raising the protective face guard, Dylan watched his uncle's slow progress towards the rink. His mind was foggy from his lack of sleep the night before, his cheeks chapped from the cold of the ice. Unsure what to do, Dylan skated to the players tunnel, dropping the gloves and stick he squatted down and tried to clear his mind. No doubt Don and Andy were going to the locker room. Stuck, Dylan put his face in his hands and tried to warm his numb cheeks.

"Dylan?" Dale asked concerned, he'd followed Dylan knowing something wasn't right with his teammate.

"I'm sorry," Dylan sighed, "The lads probably think I'm a bad sport…Gary's pass was good, no denying."

"It's ok D, we saw your uncle too," Dale replied coming over to his side and squatting down next to him.

"What do I do?" Dylan pleaded with Dale to have the answers. "I'm not sure I can face him right now."

"Well you can't stay in the tunnel forever," Dale smiled his support. "Why not hear him out? If you don't like what he has to say you can always leave."

"What if he's been…?"

"Drinking?" Dale finished the sentence for Dylan. "Then you tell him to get help and walk away. In fact come back to practice, the Dray twins need their skulls pounding together anyway."

"Thanks," Dylan smiled his appreciation. "I might just do that!"

"Good," Dale stood up and offered Dylan his hand. They all knew Dylan had problems, mostly because of his uncle, but he was a kind, honest and fiercely loyal. He was also a damn good ice hockey player and the team needed their MVP back.

Taking Dale's hand, Dylan righted himself on his skates. "Ok, I guess I'll be seeing you back out there," Dylan forced a smile as he held out his fist, "Blood and Ice," he toasted their team motto.

"Blood and ice," Dale took up the chant as he bumped his fist against Dylan's before skating backwards, bogeying all the way back onto the ice, causing Dylan to laugh genuinely with abandon for the first time in a long time. His laughter was short lived, however, as the darkness and solitude of the tunnel caved in on him once more.

"Right," Dylan said to himself as he took a moment to mentally prepare himself for meeting with his uncle, a moment that was cut short by the arrival of Andy.

"D," the Coach said coming over to Dylan, resting a comforting hand on his shoulder, "Your uncle's here. Why don't you go speak with him and then re-join us in a moment?"

"Sure Coach," Dylan replied before making his way down the tunnel and into the changing room. Picking up some plastic, Dylan covered his skate tips before heading into the large, but more importantly, empty changing room.

"Dylan," Don greeted him warmly, though he looked like hell.

"Don," Dylan replied, matching his uncle's tone as he sat down on a wooden bench between the lockers and crossed his arms, waiting his uncle out.

"Look…I'm sorry for the other night…for finding me like that can't have been easy-"

"-It wasn't," Dylan cut through his uncle's apology, hoping that his uncle would get the message that he wasn't impressed or interested in half-baked attempts.

"Anyway, thanks for what you did, you really came through for me and I'm grateful," Don mumbled, instantly regretting coming. Colby had been right, curse him. Dylan was understandably angry, but it wasn't just anger…there was a bitter resentment and disgust there. Dylan's heart and mind were closed to him…he might as well give up now. Except he couldn't, he couldn't let this be the relationship he has with the last surviving part of Charlie. He knew he'd dictated the relationship thus far but he just wanted Dylan to give him a chance to set it right.

"Was that all? Except I have a practice to get back to," Dylan said coldly, any sympathy, long washed away.

"I'm going to make it right Dylan-"

"-You still drinking?" Dylan overload his uncle's empty promise.

"No, God look at me Dylan, I'm shaking so bad _because_ I haven't had a drop…not since…not again." Don held his hands stretched out before him, Dylan made no attempts to comfort his uncle.

It was true though, Don did look like he was on Death's door and Dylan hated him for it, for doing this to him…for doing this to himself. "Talks cheap," He told his uncle as he got up and made his way back towards the tunnel's entrance.

"I mean it!" Don shouted after him outraged.

"I'm sure you do," Dylan replied, turning back. "But I can't trust you and until I can…we can't move forward."

"I'm going to get clean Dylan," Don pulled the pamphlets from his back pocket, "I'm going to rehab and then I'm getting clean. I just…I don't want to lose you."

Dylan shook his head and hated the tears that sprung to his eyes. Finally his uncle was saying all the right things…but they were just words and Don was yet to keep his. "I'm sorry," Dylan replied, genuine regret in his voice, "But you already have. _Please_ leave." Rushing back onto the ice before Don could see the tears, Dylan shot past Coach Anderson in his escape.

Gobsmacked, Don looked down at the pamphlets in his hands. He hadn't been lying about rehab. For Dylan he would have gone…even if the withdrawal almost killed him in the process, but now? He had no one. Dylan, Larry, Robin and Colby, they had all jumped ship and Don felt like the captain going down with the ship...alone. No longer resisting the urge, Don scrunched up the pamphlets and threw them against the lockers in disgust. He needed to get away, he needed to get hammered. Making his way out of the school Don headed to the nearest bar and the nearest bottle he could find.

*1:15 PM,

Same Day, John McRory's Pub*

Pushing the double swing doors open, Coach Anderson entered the dimly lit room and walked to the end of the bar. Don sat hunched at the bar, a beer in fist. "Mr Eppes," Andy said as he sat down next to Dylan's uncle.

"You!" Don replied confused, his face squinting as he looked through the darkness at his new companion. "_What__do__y__' __want_? Eh? To rub it in? Say…told y' so? Well they all told me so! The Doctor, Colby…Dylan…" Lifting his beer, Don touched the top to his lips and took a long pull, enjoying the way the warm liquid tingled and burned its way down his throat. He wasn't drunk…_yet_, but he was fast on his way to becoming drunk.

"Why not put the bottle down and join me in a glass of water," Andy told Don sternly as if he were talking to and errant child.

"Why bother! They don' care…any of them. I could die tomorrow an' they'd throw a fucking party!" Don shouted angrily.

"Perhaps they left you because they care too much to watch you drink yourself dead?" Andy stated quietly as he looked into the misguided eyes of Dylan's uncle, he deserved so much more than this. "Believe it or not Mr Eppes, you find yourself at a crossroads. Chose this path," Andy picked up the bottle and waved it in front of Don's groggy eyes, "And you'll be dead within a year…I know because my brother chose that path. However, choose the right path…leave now with me and I will take you to one of these facilities," Andy placed the scrunched up pamphlets on the bar, "And you'll have your family back within a year."

"But they all lef'…" Don mumbled like a child, snatching his beer back.

"Yes they did…but can you blame them? Any of them? Especially Dylan?" Andy posed standing up.

"No…suppose not," Don admitted reluctantly as he took another long drink from the bottle.

"Damn it Don!" Andy shouted, slamming his fist down on the bar.

"No damn y'!" Don spat angrily, "Damn Larry, damn Robin, damn Colby and DAMN DYLAN! Because they LEF'! THEY DID THIS! _NOT__ME_!"

"Denial looks pathetic on you," Andy sighed his regret.

"Yea' well this little save the uncle act y' have going on is pretty pathetic too," Don added spitefully whilst gesturing to the barman for another beer.

"Fine, ignore me…but before you crawl back inside the next bottle, spare a thought for Dylan…for all of your family, blood related or not! If you found it hard enough to bury your brother and father, spare a thought for them having to_bury_ _you._For Dylan who'll have buried his father, his grandfather and soon his uncle. Spare a thought for Dylan who'll never recover from this betrayal. He may have said he's "gone" but he isn't…you can never truly walk away from family. _Think__about__that__why__don__'__t__you!__"_

Walking out, Andy shook his head angrily. He hadn't meant to lose his cool, but he'd really thought he could get through to Don, but then again, he'd never gotten through to his own brother so why would have gotten through to Don. Heading back to the school, Andy waited all day for Ms Holland's call to find out why he'd ditched practice…fortunately it never came.

Sitting alone in his small office, Andy pondered over the practice tapes, strategizing for the next one. Pressing pause, he froze the screen on Dylan's face as he saw his uncle burst into the stadium. Feeling resentment towards the boy's uncle, Andy quickly fast forwarded past the unfortunate situation. If only Dylan could do that for real, just fast forward to when his life would finally stabilize again. Sighing angrily, Andy decided to call it a night. What he really needed was a drink but the thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. There's nothing like burying your own brother to quench a man's thirst.

*2 Days Later*

Standing alone at the sink in Colby and Liz's small kitchen, Dylan continued to wash the dishes against the orange pink glow of the setting sun through the window before him. Down the corridor and to the left he could hear Colby and Liz's easy laughter and to the right the soft hum of Hannah's radio tuned low so as not to wake Brandon.

Smiling to himself Dylan let himself feel like family but it wasn't easy…not any more. The more he enjoyed it the guiltier he felt. This should have been him with his real family. Putting the plate down in the soapy water and closing his eyes tightly against the suns painful rays, Dylan let himself pretend…just this one time.

Charlie would have been sat with Alan on the sofa, watching the latest game over a beer. Don would come home late and join them, gently ribbing at his father for the team he supported whilst Charlie laughed, all the while holding his hands up and declaring himself Switzerland in the matter. Amita would laugh from the dining room table with his aunt Robin. The two would be working, Robin on a case and Amita on the latest hack. Most importantly though, in the dim light, everyone would be happy…they'd be a family.

Dylan wasn't sure if this scene was necessarily a memory or just wishful thinking on his part. He had so few memories though that he wished it was genuine, not that it mattered much either way. Dead was dead and there could be no resurrection for his parents. He knew that because his dreams, nay his nightmares were getting stronger, more vivid. The fires burning, his body being snatched backwards, his family's screams…

Sometimes he wondered if hearing the full story would help and other nights he could feel the fire burning his cheeks and thought that the past was best buried and should be left alone. Either way, right now…in this moment…Dylan wasn't ready for the truth. He didn't think he could handle it.

"Dylan?" Colby asked concerned. He'd come in for a cup of coffee, not expecting to find Dylan washing up. "We said to leave it till morning."

"I know," Dylan smiled tightly, "It's just…well…it's how I used to think thinks out back at…Don's."

"I see," Colby nodded a fraction too long, "You miss him?"

"No…is that terrible of me?" Dylan asked resuming his washing up, hiding the lie from Colby's view.

"After the way he's behaved? No not at all," Colby frowned at the bread bin.

"So he deserves no sympathy at all?" Dylan looked at Colby confused; after all he was the one in the past who tried to negotiate peace between Don and Dylan.

"I never said that…just that he's had a lot of chances in the past and that we shouldn't let him suck us into his downward spiral. He needs help-"

"Surly some of that help should have come from us?" Dylan spoke the thoughts that had plagued him most since that day in the locker room when he'd turned Don away. _"__Talks__cheap,_" he'd told his uncle, right before telling him he'd lost him forever. "Maybe…with _my_help he would have gotten better!"

"No Dylan, you're wrong…he needs to get better for himself, not for anyone else," Colby sighed deeply as he got a fresh coffee mug and started the kettle.

"But what incentive does he have now? What if he does something stupid like…like…"

"Like what? Like kill himself?" Colby half shouted angrily. "You really think I haven't thought about that? I'm more concerned with what it'll do to you if you get sucked back in!"

"Sucked back in?" Dylan asked confused, "I haven't spoken to him since I turned him away…but…maybe I should try…if I reach out he might get help."

"Or he could hurt you worse…" Colby bit his lip afraid.

"What aren't you telling me Col?" Dylan asked, pulling the gloves off and resting his back against the counter.

"I'm…I'm…" Colby stumble for an excuse.

"Just give it to him dear," Liz told her husband as she smiled at Dylan, "It's up to him what to do with it." Moving over to the bread bin, Colby protested as she opened it and pulled out a small envelope. "This came for you this morning dear…its…from your uncle."

Taking the envelope, Dylan stared at it confused. He was angry that they had hidden it from him but he understood why. The envelope was either good or bad news. It was in Don's hand so surely it meant he hadn't gotten himself killed…unless it's a goodbye note…Dylan's head whizzed to the extreme.

"We'll leave you alone," Liz rested a soothing and on Dylan's shoulder and kissed his head before hustling her dumbfounded husband from the room.

Turning the letter over, Dylan tore it open, deciding that the mystery would be worse than the reality. For the briefest of moments he thought that he was wrong about that. For the envelope appeared empty. Turning it upside down, Dylan shook the letter in frustration. After a few seconds, almost ready to give up, a small red disc fell from the envelope to ping against the strong wood of the dining room table.

Picking it up, Dylan inspected the disc that was no bigger than a poker chip. Both sides were scribed with the number twenty four. Letting the laughter bubble up in his chest, Dylan let out a roar of triumph. Running back into the Room, Liz and Colby inspected him with worried frowns. Holding it out Dylan shouted, "Talk's cheap," and continued to giggle insanely.

Taking the disc off of him, Liz held it out to her husband, "Twenty-four hours," She dimpled, "It's a start."

"It is that," Colby retuned her smile with a swift kiss. "That it is," He repeated as he turned the disc over his fingers before taking a small tumbler off the sink and dropping the small AA chip inside. "To the first of many," Colby toasted, holding the glass up high for all to see, before handing it back to Dylan. "I'm sorry I tried to hide this from you…I was just worried that he…I'm glad that I was wrong."

"You were right though," Dylan shared graciously, "At least now he's doing this for him."

"As well as you," Colby smiled as Dylan held the tumbler to his chest. More than happy this time to be proved false and excited to tell Larry the good news.

"Go," his wife told him, handing the phone over and laughing as he picked her up and twirled her round.

"Be right back," He old Dylan before rushing back out the room.

That night Dylan slept soundly, safe in the knowledge that Don had made the first move towards recovery. Dylan wasn't foolish enough to think that a chip could make up for years of neglect but it was a promise, from uncle to nephew to try and he was more than willing to give his uncle that.


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

*1 Month Later*

"Hi everybody, I'm Don Eppes…and I'm an Alcoholic,"

"Hi Don," The group greeted him in return.

Looking out at the small crowd in front of him, Don smiled at the unlikely group of friends he'd made over the last thirty days. "I know that I am the last to speak and that you're all eager to get back to your rooms, so I'll try and keep it brief. I am an FBI officer…and I became the biggest cliché in the book. I mean a drunken cop? What was I thinking right?"

Folding his arms around him, Don waited for the small titter of laughter to die down before continuing, "I'm ashamed to admit that it got to the point where my nephew's ice hockey coach had to tell me that I only had two paths in front of me, finding help or eating a bullet… In the last fifteen years I've buried my brother, my sister-in-law and my father… It's the main reason for my drinking and I didn't want that for my nephew. I was in some Irish pub somewhere, it didn't matter when it was or if the beer was any good…I just had to self-destruct. It was hard breaking the pattern but I made a promise to myself that day that I would get clean. I won't let my nephew bury me till I'm old or killed in the line of duty. Basically, I promised not to pull the trigger myself."

Reaching into his pocket, Don pulled out a small round disc with the number thirty printed on top and rolled it around in his fingers for a few minutes. "I'm leaving here tomorrow…and that frightens the shit out of me. This…disc…it says that I can be sober for thirty days. It says that I can be clean if I want to be and trust me I want to be. It's just…I did those days _here_, with the support of this group and sure I have friends out there that will support me… I guess I'm just afraid that out there, with all the trappings and pressures of real life…that I'll fold, relapse or worse…disappoint my nephew."

Feeling a lump in the bottom of his throat, Don looked for his sponcer's face in the crowd. He was nodding his encouragement and if Don wasn't mistaken he could see pride in the old man's face. Closing his eyes, Don remembered the first time that he had come to a meeting. Too afraid or too ashamed, Don didn't know which, but he'd found it hard to stand there and expose himself to the rest of the group. Just mentioning Dylan's name had made him hot with regret and the sympathy in the others' eyes was too much. Don didn't want their pity, but it's true what they say…you can't get clean alone and for the first time Don didn't want to do it alone.

That first night he'd been weak. Still detoxing, and alone, Don had wanted to jack the entire program in and go home. It was James who had come to his room and handed him his twenty four hour chip and saved him, made him stronger. "_Send this to your kid,"_ He'd said, "_It says that you're not perfect…but that you're trying. It's why they give them to us in the first place. You just made it twenty four hours…trust me when I say that not only can you do this…you've already done the hardest part."_

And Don did trust him. He sent the chip to Dylan and strangely it did make him feel better. He felt stronger. Nodding now to his unlikely friend, Don readdressed the crowd. "What scares me most about leaving is where I'll live. I split with my wife. I was a bastard and she cheated. I spent the last fifteen years punishing her for staying and now punishing her for leaving and I hate myself for it. She was my rock, my one connection to the world. I survived my brother's murder because of her. She thinks that because I drink…that she failed me back then. Truth is…I came really close to eating a bullet that night. She was my anchor; she kept me rooted to this place and these people. Her betrayal…it hurt…but I guess my drinking…well I see now that I betrayed her first."

"Anyway, finding a place, that's what I'm dreading most. I have a small apartment that I could re-rent or…I could go home…my nephew never wanted to go back there but we could finally go home. I never could sell the place. I guess I'm just afraid of facing all those memories, whether it is moving back in or just packing up and finally selling it. Not that it matters…I made a promise to him. I promised that I'll wait and go wherever suits him, because my therapist helped me realise that home is wherever my nephew is. I'm sorrier than he'll ever know for not realising that sooner. Anyway…thanks as usual for listening."

Sitting down next to James, Don clapped with the rest as their therapist Dr Walker took to the front of the stage. "Thank you all for sharing today. I know that it can be hard to open up and bear your soul to strangers. It's hard to admit when we're wrong or what we are most ashamed of and you all did great. To those of you who are leaving us tomorrow, remember that this group is always open to the public, so don't be strangers ok. Finally, let's close this session by saying the serenity prayer."

All together the room chorused, "God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; the courage to change the things I can; and the wisdom to know the difference."

With the meeting finished, Don said his goodbyes to James and the others before heading back to his room to finish packing. He still had his nightly phone call to Dylan to make before ordering the next day's taxi and Don wanted to get it done with sooner rather than later so that he could get in a decent night's sleep before the long day he faced tomorrow. It was the anniversary of Charlie and Amita's deaths a couple of days ago and Don had promised Dylan that they would go and visit their graves when he got out of rehab. Whether or not he felt strong enough was irrelevant. For the first time Don was going to be an uncle to his nephew and if visiting Charlie and Amita was what Dylan wanted then Don could respect that. He was manning up and it was definitely about bloody time.

*The Next Day*

Standing at the end of his brother's grave, Don watched as his nephew lay flowers for his dead parents. Don had only ever visited the graveyard twice before, both times he'd been burying his family and it was hard to smother the guilt that he felt about that. It was also the first time he'd seen his nephew since that fateful day in the locker room. Sure he'd spoken to him every night on the phone…but somehow it was easier to talk to a phone. The phone didn't stare at him with hesitation and suspicion in its eyes.

"Dylan…mate…we need to talk," Don's voice cracked from the lack of use and unshed tears.

"Why, you breaking up with me?" Dylan smiled a crooked watery smile. It was Charlie's smile and the knowledge of that punched a fresh hole through Don's heart.

"It's not you it's me," Don laughed, pushing his pain aside.

"I know," Dylan got up and laid a reassuring hand on his uncle's arm, "'cause I'm awesome."

"Oi and I'm not?" Don asked with mock anger.

"I didn't want to say anything…" Dylan laughed, ducking as his uncle took a half-hearted swipe at his head.

"Seriously though…" Don gestured for his nephew to follow him and didn't speak again till they reached the old familiar cherry blossom tree. Remembering the last time they were here, Dylan hesitated fractionally before joining his uncle on the soft grass. "How's your therapy going?" Don asked, genuinely concerned.

"It's ok. Although Aunt Robin keeps insisting on taking me," Dylan tore thoughtlessly at a long blade of grass.

"It's good that you and Robin are still in touch," Don smiled with effort. Inside his heart was thumping, _so Robin didn't leave after all._

"Are you going to work things out?" Dylan asked out of the blue, intruding on Don's sudden and frantic thoughts.

"I dunno mate…I just don't know." Don looked away from his nephew's intense stare. "In the meantime we'll need to decide where to live," Don said after a few minutes of silence had passed.

Letting out the breath that Dylan hadn't realised he'd been holding, he considered his uncle next to him. "Where did you have in mind?" He asked slowly, his heart beating fast.

"I wondered about the old craftsman home…I never did sell it, so it's there if you want it," Sitting on his hands, Don waited patiently for his nephew to answer him. When he didn't he went on, "Naturally if you're uncomfortable with that, we can rent an apartment near your school. I know that you said that you didn't want to go back there…but it feels right. Doesn't it?"

"I only didn't want to go back because you would never step foot there when I was a child," Dylan said uncertainly, his gaze sweeping the graveyard before them. "Granddad had just died and I was worried that I'd lose you to if we went back there… I mean, you were never there Don…I thought that if we stayed at Robin's then…well I hoped that it would be the house that you didn't want to visit. Turns out it was just me all along."

"No! Never think that! My not coming around…well I can't excuse it. My behaviour was terrible. I saw you as a horrible reminder of everything I'd lost…but I should have seen you as a gift. I look at you and I see my brother. You are so alike in the small things and the large that I know that my brother lives on in you." Don put an arm around his nephew's shoulders and pulled him close. "You're right that back then…I couldn't have survived in that house, but now…I dunno…doesn't it feel right to you?"

"What if…?"

"What? If I start drinking again?" Don asked irritated but understood Dylan's point of view. "I won't. But I understand that my word doesn't mean shit right now…so I'll make you a promise. I start drinking again…you get my bike."

"But you won't even let me touch it let alone drive it! Hell I'm hardly allowed to breathe on it!" Dylan said shocked.

"Well then…I'd better stay sober then hadn't I?" Don winked at his nephew's smiling face, stripped bare of all hesitation, suspicion and fear and filled with a grudging hope. "Why not meet me at the house in a couple hours, get Colby to come with you. We'll start cleaning up the joint…maybe have a spring clean."

"Ok," Dylan replied happily. He was going home and he and Don could finally be a family. It was everything he'd dreamed of and so much more.

*A Few Hours Later,

At The Old Craftsman Home*

Looking now at the boarded up windows and over run garden, Colby thought that Don was nuts. In fact he could hardly believe that Don hadn't sold the house, let alone understand his reasoning for wanting to come back. The Don he had come to know these last fifteen years couldn't hack a minute in that house and Don thought he could live there? Who was he and what had he done with Don?

"All it needs is a lick of paint," Larry smiled uneasily at Dylan. He was obviously having difficulty coming to terms with this latest twist as well.

"A little hard work and we can move in tonight," Dylan smiled back before inspecting the boards on the windows.

"So soon? Are you sure about that?" Colby frowned uncertainly. "I mean Don hasn't even showed up yet…are we early?" Colby asked looking at his watch.

"Yes I'm sure. I'm really grateful to you and Liz, really I am…it's just…I want to move forwards now, put it all in the past and move on with our lives. Besides, he'll show. He just said that he had a few things to sort out first," Dylan frowned at Colby. He loved him and was eternally grateful that he'd taken him in for the last month but he was annoyed that Colby couldn't get excited about this for him.

"Dylan…Colby meant nothing by it…how about we go inside eh? I have a spare key and that way _when_ Don turns up we can tell him what needs doing," Larry said as he pulled the key from his pocket and opened the door.

"Thanks," Dylan whispered as he passed Larry and found himself in the living room of his youth. The first thing he noticed was the dust, there was so much of it. Don had done his best, laying giant white sheets over the prominent furniture but the hard wood floor was caked in it.

Pushing any lingering apprehension to one side Dylan reached out and swiftly pulled back on the white sheets around him. The sofas, chairs, tables and piano were all pristine and exactly as Dylan had left them the morning of the funeral. In the side room he could see the chess game he had been playing with his granddad, and on the freezer his old school reports. He bet if he went upstairs he'd find his old room filled with all the old clothes, books and toys that he had abandoned that morning. Don had grabbed enough to fill his car but the rest had all been left behind.

"Are you ok?" Larry asked, coming up behind Dylan and resting a hand on his shoulder.

"Don was right…this just feels…right," Dylan laughed and then wept.

"D?" Colby asked startled.

"Really," Dylan sobbed, "I just didn't realise how disconnected I felt from it all." Going over to the mantle place, Dylan inspected the photos there. Most of them were of Dylan over the years, some of Charlie and Amita and a few of Don. His favourite one was still there. It was a Christmas photo, his granddad was pretending to be Santa Clause and everyone one else was there to, Don, Charlie, Amita, Robin, Dylan, Larry, Colby, Liz and his uncle David who always flew back from DC on holidays. They all looked so happy in the photo…a real family. Little did any of them know how screwed up their lives were to become.

"That was a good year," Colby smiled looking at the photo, "You're first Christmas…"

"Your granddad loved to transform this place with decorations," Larry smiled as well.

"Maybe Don and I will try this year," Dylan said optimistically. Not liking the look of concern that flittered between his two surrogate uncles. "He's coming ok," Dylan said harsher than he'd meant. "He promised and I trust him. God are you two really going to keep punishing him? He's trying!"

"Dylan, we trust Don implicitly…it's just he hasn't given us much reason to of late." Larry sighed before taking a seat on the sofa behind him.

"No…but my uncle, your friend he's not that man that you've seen lately and you guys just need to give him a chance. I should know, my therapist told me so." With that said Dylan moved upstairs to assess the damage and how much cleaning was needed. God he hated house work, but it was but a small price to pay.

*Meanwhile at Robin's Condo*

"Don…?" Robin asked uncertainly as she opened the door.

"Don't say anything ok," Don held up a hand to stop her before she could say something bad or send him away. "I'm an ass," He said as he shoved his hands in his pockets. "I'm just so sorry Robin…for _everything_. For hurting you…for pushing you away…for never letting you in. I'm an ass," He shrugged, scuffing a toe on the welcome matt.

"That's it? You were an ass?" Robin asked breathlessly when she could find her voice again.

"I know that it sounds like a cop out but I don't want to lie to you anymore and I certainly don't want to make excuses. I was hurting and rather than leaning on you for support I drank. I drank so much to fill that hole in my life that I couldn't stop. Even at the expense of you and Dylan," Folding his arms against the bitter cold, Don looked into the cold eyes of his wife. To anyone else she would look heartless and unaffected but Don knew better. He could see the pain and the hurt and the knowledge that he'd created it was killing him.

"Do you want to come in?" She asked after a brief hesitation and opened the door wider to let him past. The temptation to grab her and never let her go was so strong that he had to shove his hands in his pockets once more. "Would you like a drink?" She asked gesturing to the kitchen, but Don was too amazed by the living room to respond immediately. There was a mess everywhere, which was very unlike Robin who yelled at him when he left his coffee mug on the TV in the morning.

"No thank you," He forced a smile.

"Ok…" She sounded so uncertain, so afraid…so unlike Robin.

"I miss you-"

"-_Don,_" She whispered, her voice cracking from anger? Regret? Don couldn't tell.

"Hear me out, _please?" _He asked strained. When she nodded her consent he continued, "I know that I can't change the last fifteen years…but I want to try. I love you and though it probably never showed…I always have. I was stupid and drunk and…I don't want a divorce. I want to try and make this, whatever this is, I want to try and make it work. Because Robin," He waited for her to look him in the eye, "I'm not done loving you. If you still want the divorce of course I'll honour that…but I really hope you don't. "

"You know…for years I watched you slowly drift away. It's like you were determined to wash away any memory with alcohol. You were mean, you were spiteful and you weren't _you_. You weren't the man I fell in love with. Him, the drunken mess…yes I want to divorce him. I never want to see him again because it was hard enough to walk away once. I don't know if I have the strength in me to walk away a third time." Picking up her mother's necklace from her chest, Robin began to twist it in her fingers.

"I understand," Don dipped his head so she wouldn't see the tears.

Walking over to Don and lifting his chin with her thumb and forefinger, Robin looked into the eyes of the man she'd promised to love forever. "_I love you Don, always have…probably always will,"_ She smiled a watery smile. "I can see that you aren't that man anymore, that drunken mess is gone and I love you even more for it. I never thought the day would come when you'd come back to me…"

Cupping her cheek with his palm, Don brushed the tears away. "I love you," He whispered on her lips as he kissed her, putting all his love and passion behind it. Raking her fingers through his soft hair, Robin moaned her longing as she fell into his arms.

Breaking the kiss, Don held her close as he told her about the craftsman home and how he planned to move there with Dylan. "We should have moved in there two years ago," Don sighed his regret. "I know you told me that and that I didn't listen to you at the time, but…well Dylan is pretty excited about it so I hope you don't mind moving in with us…provided that isn't moving too fast for you? I know I have a lot of years to make up for," Don smiled, giving her bum a reassuring squeeze.

"I want to be wherever you are," She smiled happily as she kissed him gently, then harder, till their breathing became ragged. "Come to bed," She whispered seductively as she took his hand and lead him to their bedroom.

"Ok," He looked at his watch, "but then we have to meet Dylan at the house. I'm already late!"

*Later that Night*

With Dylan asleep and Colby finally gone, Don took Larry to one side. "You really came through," Larry smiled happily over a glass of fresh apple juice.

"Thanks," Don smiled back as he considered the hard work they'd all put in to make the house look presentable. "_Larry_," Don said passionately after the pair had fallen back into companionable silence, "I'm really sorry for pushing you away. I want you to know that it wasn't personal…"

"I know Don," Larry nodded his understanding; he'd shaved the beard and cut his hair and properly looked like Larry again.

"I think you should come stay with us for a while," Don said, speaking an idea that had come to him as Robin and he travelled to the house earlier that day. "Dad converted the garage into a flat and well…you're wasted at the monastery. You were born to teach, to explore…I hate that you lost that because of me."

"Are you sure?" Larry asked, afraid to get his hopes up. Truth was he was tired of the monastery. He needed a new challenge and teaching again could be it.

"I want you here and more importantly Dylan wants you here, personally I'd take it as an insult if you refused!" Don laughed as Larry got that familiar tingle in his eyes. Don just knew that there was a physics question lurking behind them that Larry wanted to solve.

"In that case," Larry held out his glass, "I'm in."

Clinking the two drinks together, Don and Larry slipped back into companionable silence until Robin came home from getting last minute items at her condo. Hand in hand, Don lead his wife upstairs to bed. Life, though never the same without Charlie, Amita and Alan, was finally reaching some kind of normality.

*6 Months Later*

"Hi everybody, I'm Don Eppes and I'm an Alcoholic," Don told the small crowded hall.

"Hi Don," They all chanted back.

"It's been six months since my last drink and I think that I'm going to make it this time," Smiling, Don watched as the crowd clapped their support. "My wife and I have decided to renew our vows. My nephew just graduated high school and is off to college on an Ice Hockey scholarship and I'm finally in a place where I'm happy. I know the road got rocky for a while…and there will always be temptations…especially in my line of work…but, yeah life is certainly good. I'm just grateful to all of you and my therapist, who continues to work on making me a better man, so that I can be the man my family deserves. Anyway…thanks." Taking a seat next to his sponcer James, Don clapped with the rest as the next poor sod took to the stage.

"You did good kid," James smiled as he tapped Dons knee with his fist.

"Thanks," Don grinned recklessly, "I couldn't have done it without you." Palming his six month sober chip, Don thought of Robin waiting at home for him and Dylan getting ready to pack. Yes, life was certainly better and he had no intention of messing it up again. So even though he technically was in a good place and didn't need a meeting, he still came and spoke his mind. Always in the knowledge that he was loved and supported and importantly, never alone.

The End.

I'd like to quickly thank you all if you made it to the end of this Fic. I know it got really depressing there for a while but I hope you enjoyed it anyways.

This chapter was really hard for me to write, I think I rewrote the beginning three times before settling on this version. It took me ages to find the right words around work commitments and writers block. I apologise if the end feels a bit rushed, it just felt right to me to summarise that Don was good now rather than waste chapters saying basically the same thing.

Anyway, thanks again. Especially to those of you who left reviews. It helped having the support, just to keep my motivation high.

Also look out for 'Before you're Gone' that will be coming soon. It's going to be a short prequel to try and fully explain what happened in the events leading up to and after Charlie's death. I know I left the whole affair a bit mysterious, but now you know why ;)

Cheers,

x


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